JNIVERSITY  OF  CA  RIVERSIDE.  LIBRARY 


3  1210018387660 


•vr     ,  i   ,  /^  --  -  : 


SAN   ISIDRO 


Mrs.  Schuyler  Crowninshield 


LIBRARY 

UflfVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
RIVERSIDE 


A 


SAN    ISIDRO 


SAN   ISIDRO 


BY 


"Mrs.   Schuyler  Crowninshield 


HERBERT  S.  STONE  &f  COMPANY 

CHICAGO  &  NEW  YORK 

MDCCCC 


COPYRIGHT     1899     BY 
HERBERT  S.  STONE  &  CO. 


TO 

C.  S.  C. 

A    MEMORY   OF   "LA    MADRUGADA 


SAN   ISIDRO* 


People  wondered  why  Don  Beltran  remained  in 
the  casa  down  by  the  river.  He  had  been  warned 
by  his  prudent  neighbors,  who  lived  anywhere  from 
two  to  six  miles  away,  that  some  time  a  flood, 
greater  than  any  that  the  valley  had  yet  known, 
would  arise  and  sweep  house  and  inmates  away  to 
the  sea. 

Don  Beltran  laughed  at  this.  He  was  happy  as 
he  was,  and  content.  There  had  always  been 
floods,  and  they  had  sometimes  caused  the  river  to 
overflow  so  as  to  wash  across  his  potreros,  but  the 
cacao  and  bananas  were  planted  on  gentle  elevations 
where  the  water  as  yet  had  never  reached.  Then, 
too,  there  was  always  the  Hill  Rancho,  though 
neither  so  large  nor  so  comfortable  as  the  casa. 
Why  borrow  trouble?  At  the  first  sign  of  danger 
the  cattle  and  horses  had  always  betaken  themselves 
to  the  grove  on  the  hill,  there  to  browse  and  feed, 

*  Pronounced  E-see-dro. 


SAN  ISIDRO 

until  the  shallow  lake  which  stretched  across  the 
plains  below  them  had  subsided.  Once  Don  Bel- 
tran,  Adan,  his  faithful  serving-man,  and  Adan's 
niece,  Agueda,  had  been  belated.  Adan  had 
quickly  untied  the  bridle  of  the  little  brown  horse 
from  the  tethering  staple  at  the  corner  of  the  casa, 
and  mounting  it,  had  swum  away  for  safety. 

' ' That  is  right, ' '  said  Don  Beltran ;  "he  will  swim 
Mexico" — Don  Beltran  said  Mayheco — "to  the  ris 
ing  ground,  and  save  the  young  rascal.  As  for  us, 
Agueda,  the  horse  had  stampeded  before  I  noticed 
the  cloud-burst.  It  seems  that  you  and  I  must 
stay." 

Agueda  made  no  answer,  but  she  thought  it  no 
hardship  to  remain. 

"There  is  no  danger  for  us,  child;  we  can  go  up 
to  the  thatch  and  wait." 

"The  peons  have  gone,"  said  Agueda,  shyly. 

"They  were  within  their  rights,"  answered  Don 
Beltran.  "All  must  go  who  are  afraid.  I  have 
always  told  them  that.  For  me,  I  have  known 
many  floods.  They  were  always  interesting,  never 
dangerous.  Had  I  my  choice,  I  should  have 
stayed." 

"And  I,"  said  Agueda.  She  did  not  look  at 
Don  Beltran  as  she  spoke.  The  lids  were  drooped 
over  her  grey  eyes. 

Agueda  turned  away  and  entered  the  comidor, 


SAN  ISIDEO 

leaving  Don  Beltran  looking  up  the  valley:  not 
anxiously — merely  as  one  surveys  a  spectacle  of 
interest.  Once  in  the  comidor,  Agueda  busied  her 
self  opening  cupboards  and  closets.  She  took 
therefrom  certain  articles  of  food  which  she  placed 
within  a  basket.  She  did  not  move  nervously,  but 
quickly,  as  if  to  say,  ' '  It  may  come  at  any  moment ; 
we  have  not  much  time,  perhaps."  She  recalled, 
as  she  lightly  hurried  about,  the  last  time  that  the 
flood  had  overtaken  them  at  the  casa.  Nada,  her 
mother,  had  prepared  the  basket  then.  Nada, 
Adan's  sister,  who  had  kept  Don  Beltran's  house, 
after  she  had  been  left  alone  on  the  hillside — Nada, 
sweet  Nada,  who  had  died  six  months  ago  of  no 
malady  that  the  little  Spanish  doctor  could  discover. 
Don  Beltran  prized  his  Capitas,  Adan,  above  all 
the  serving-men  whom  he  had  ever  employed,  and 
nothing  was  too  good  for  Adan's  sister  Nada — so 
young,  so  fair-looking,  so  patient,  her  mouth  set 
ever  in  that  heartrending  smile,  which  is  more  bit 
ter  to  look  upon  than  a  fierce  compression  of  the 
lips,  whose  gentle  tones  wring  the  heart  more  cru 
elly  than  do  the  wild  denunciations  of  the  revenge 
ful  and  vindictive.  The  little  Spanish  doctor, 
who,  like  the  Chinese,  had  never  forgotten  any 
thing,  as  he  had  never  learned  anything,  had 
ordered  a  young  calf  slain  and  its  heart  brought  to 
where  Nada  lay  wasting  away.  Warm  and  almost 

3 


SAN  ISIDRO 

beating,  it  had  been  opened  and  laid  upon  the  spot 
where  she  felt  the  gnawing  pain ;  but  as  there  is  no 
prophylactic  against  the  breaking  of  a  heart,  so  for 
that  crushed  and  quivering  organ  there  is  no 
remedy.  And  Nada,  tortured  in  every  feeling, 
physical  and  mental,  had  suffered  all  that  devotion 
and  ignorance  could  suggest,  and  died. 

Agueda  knew  little  of  her  mother's  history,  and 
remembered  only  her  invariable  patience  and  gen 
tleness.  She  remembered  their  leaving  Los  Alamos 
to  come  to  the  hacienda  down  by  the  river.  She 
remembered  that  one  day  she  had  suddenly  awak 
ened  to  the  fact  that  Don  Jorge  was  at  the  casa  no 
longer,  that  her  mother  smiled  no  more,  that  she 
paid  slight  attention  to  her  little  daughter's  ques 
tionings,  that  Nada  was  always  robed  in  black  now, 
that  there  had  been  no  funeral,  no  corpse,  no 
grave!  Don  Jorge  was  not  dead,  that  she  knew, 
because  the  old  Capitas,  Rafael,  was  always  order 
ing  the  peons  about,  saying,  "The  Seflor  wills  it," 
or  "The  Seflor  will  have  it  so."  Then  there  had 
come  a  day  when  the  bull-cart  was  brought  to  the 
door — the  side  door  which  opened  from  their  apart 
ment.  In  it  were  placed  her  little  trunk,  which 
Nada  had  brought  her  from  Haldez,  when  she  went 
to  the  midwinter  fair,  and  her  mother's  American 
chair,  which  Don  Jorge  had  brought  once  when  he 
returned  from  the  States;  she  remembered  how 

4 


SAN  ISIDRO 

kindly  he  had  smiled  at  her  pleasure.  In  fact,  all 
that  in  any  way  seemed  to  be  part  and  parcel  of  the 
two  was  placed  in  the  cart,  not  unkindly,  by  Juan 
Filipe,  and  then  the  vehicle  awaited  Nada's  pleas 
ure.  She  remembered  how  Nada  had  taken  her  by 
the  hand  and  led  her  through  the  rooms  of  the 
large,  spreading,  uneven  casa.  They  had  passed 
through  halls  and  corridors,  and  had  finally  come  to 
a  pretty  interior,  which  Agueda  remembered  well, 
but  in  which  she  had  not  been  now  for  a  long  time. 
The  walls  were  pink,  and  on  the  floor  was  a  pink 
and  white  rug,  faded  it  is  true,  but  dainty  still. 
Here  Nada  had  looked  about  with  streaming  eyes. 
She  had  gone  round  behind  the  bed,  and  Agueda 
had  looked  up  to  see  her  standing,  her  lips  pressed 
to  the  wall,  and  whispering  through  her  kisses, 
' '  Good  by,  good  by ! "  Then  she  had  taken  Agueda 
by  the  hand. 

"Look  at  this  room  well,  "Gueda,"  she  had  said. 

"Why,  mother?" 

But  Nada  did  not  speak.  Her  lips  trembled. 
She  could  not  form  her  words.  She  stood  for  a 
moment,  her  eyes  devouring  that  room  which  she 
should  never  see  again.  Her  tears  had  stopped; 
her  eyes  were  burning. 

She  stooped  down  by  her  daughter. 

"Agueda,"  she  said,  "repeat  these  words  after 
me." 

5 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Yes,  mother." 

"Say,  'All  happiness  be  upon  this  house.'  ' 

"No,  no!  mother,  I  will  not.  This  casa  has 
made  you  cry.  I  will  not  say  it." 

"Agueda!"  Nada's  tone  was  almost  stern.  "Do 
as  I  tell  you,  child,  repeat  my  words — 'All  happi 
ness  come  to  this  house.'  ' 

But  Agueda  had  pressed  her  lips  tightly  together 
and  shaken  her  head.  She  had  closed  the  grey 
eyes  so  that  the  curled  lashes  swept  her  round 
brown  cheek.  Nada  had  lifted  the  child  in  her 
arms  and  carried  her  through  the  corridors  and  out 
to  the  side  veranda.  She  had  set  her  in  the  cart 
and  got  in  beside  her. 

"Where  to,  Seflora?"  Juan  Filipe  had  asked 
gently. 

"To  San  Isidro,"  Nada  had  answered  from  stiff 
lips. 

<l Aaaaaiiieee!"1  Juan  Filipe  had  shouted,  at  the 
same  time  flourishing  the  long  lash  of  his  whip 
round  the  animals'  heads.  They,  knowing  that 
they  must  soon  move,  had  tossed  their  noses  stub 
bornly.  Another  warning,  the  wheels  had  creaked, 
turned  round,  and  they  had  passed  down  the  hill. 
Agueda  never  forgot  that  ride  to  San  Isidro.  Had 
it  not  been  for  her  mother's  tears,  she  would  have 
been  more  than  happy.  She  had  always  wished  to 
ride  in  the  new  bull-cart;  Juan  Filipe  had  promised 

6 


SAN   ISIDRO 

her  many  a  time.  Now  he  was  at  last  keeping  his 
promise.  This  argued  well.  If  she  could  take  one 
ride,  how  many  more  might  she  not  have?  All  the 
time  during  that  little  trip  to  San  Isidro,  Agueda 
was  asking  herself  mental  questions.  There  was 
no  use  in  speaking  to  her  mother.  She  only  looked 
far  away  toward  Los  Alamos,  and  answered  "Yes" 
and  "No"  at  random.  Agueda  remembered  with 
what  delight  she  had  seen  the  patient  bulls  turn  the 
creaking  cart  into  the  camino  which  led  to  San 
Isidro. 

"Oh,"  she  said,  clapping  her  hands,  "we  are 
going  to  Uncle  Adan's!" 

For  was  not  this  Uncle  Adan's  casa,  and  did  not 
Don  Beltran  live  with  Uncle  Adan?  She  was  not 
sure.  But  when  she  had  been  there  with  her 
mother,  she  had  seen  that  splendid  tall  Don  Beltran 
about  the  house  with  the  dogs,  or  with  his  bulls  in 
the  field,  or  in  his  shooting  coat  with  his  gun  slung 
across  his  shoulder,  or  going  with  his  fishing-tackle 
to  the  river.  Yes,  she  was  sure  that  Don  Beltran 
lived  at  Uncle  Adan's  house. 

Agueda's  thoughts  sped  with  the  rapidity  that 
reminiscence  brings,  and  as  she  placed  some  rounds 
of  cassava  bread  in  the  basket  she  saw  her  mother 
doing  the  same,  as  if  it  were  but  yesterday,  and 
saying  between  halting  breaths: 

"Never  trust  a  gentleman  —  Agueda  —  marry 
7 


SAN  ISIDRO 

some — plain,  honest — man — a  man  of — our  peo 
ple,  Agueda — but  do  not — trust — " 

"Who  are  our  people,  mother?"  the  girl  had 
interrupted. 

Aye,  who  were  their  people? 

Nada  had  not  answered.  She  had  lain  her  thin 
arms  round  Agueda's  unformed  shoulders,  turned 
the  girl's  head  backward  with  the  other  hand  laid 
upon  her  brow,  and  gazed  steadily  into  the  good 
grey  eyes. 

"My  little  Agueda,"  she  had  said — stopped 
short,  and  sighed.  It  was  hopeless.  There  was  no 
escape  from  the  burden  of  inheritance.  Agueda 
had  not  understood  the  cause  of  her  mother's  sigh 
and  her  halting  words.  She  had  been  ill  to  death — 
that  she  knew.  Then  came  long  years  of  patience, 
as  Agueda  grew  to  girlhood.  Could  it  be  only  six 
months  ago  that  she  had  lost  her? 

"My  sweet  Nada,"  she  whispered,  as  she  laid  a 
napkin  over  the  contents  of  the  basket,  "I  do  not 
know  what  you  meant,  but  I  do  not  forget  you, 
Nada." 

"Hasten,  Agueda!  There  is  no  danger,  but 
there  is  no  need  of  getting  a  wetting." 

Agueda  turned  to  see  Don  Beltran  standing  in 
the  doorway  of  the  comidor.  He  was  smiling.  His 
face  looked  brown  and  healthful  against  the  worn 
blue  of  the  old  painted  door.  His  white  trousers 

8 


SAN  ISIDRO 

were  tucked  within  the  tops  of  his  high  boots,  and 
he  wore  a  belt  of  tanned  leather,  with  the  usual 
accompaniment  of  a  pistol-holder,  which  was  empty, 
the  belt  forming  a  strap  for  a  machete,  and  hold 
ing  safely  that  useful  weapon  of  domesticity  or 
menace.  His  fine  striped  shirt  hung  in  loose  folds 
partly  over  the  belt;  the  collar,  broad,  and  turned 
down  from  the  brown  throat,  being  held  carelessly 
in  place  by  a  flowing  coloured  tie.  He  had  an  old 
Panama  hat  in  his  brown  hand.  His  wavy  hair 
swept  back  from  his  forehead,  crisp  and  changeable 
in  its  dark  gold  lights.  His  brown  eyes  looked 
kindly  at  the  girl,  but  more  particularly  at  the 
basket  which  she  filled. 

"Have  you  some  glasses?"  he  asked,  "and 
some — " 

"Water,  Seflor?  Yes,  I  have  not  forgotten 
that." 

Don  Beltran  laughed  merrily. 

"I  fancy  that  we  shall  have  water  enough, 
'Gueda,  child.  Get  my  flask  and  fill  it  with  rum. 
The  pink  rum  of  the  vega.  Here,  let  me  get  the 
demijohn.  Run  for  the  flask,  child.  Perhaps  I 
should  have  listened  to  the  warning  of  old  Emper- 
atriz." 

There  were  other  warnings  which  Beltran  had  not 
taken  into  account.  The  sultry  day  that  had 
passed,  the  total  absence  of  breeze,  the  low-flying 

9 


SAN  ISIDRO 

birds,  the  stridulous  cry  of  the  early  home-flying 
parrots,  the  dun-colored  sky  to  the  south  and  east, 
the  whinneying  and  neighing  of  the  horses.  The 
old  grey,  who  knew  the  signs  of  the  times,  had  torn 
his  bridle  loose  and  raced  across  the  pasture-land  to 
the  hill  where  stood  the  rancho.  He  was  the 
pioneer;  the  others  had  followed  him,  and  the  little 
roan  had  galloped  away  last  of  all,  with  Adan  to 
guide  and  reassure  him.  The  bulls,  leaping  and 
plunging  with  heads  to  earth  and  hind  hoofs  raised 
in  air,  with  shaking  fringe  of  tail  and  bellowed 
pleading,  had  asked,  as  plainly  as  could  creatures 
to  whom  God  gave  a  soul,  to  be  allowed  to  flee  to 
the  mountain.  Adan,  in  passing,  had  unclasped 
and  thrown  wide  the  gate,  and  they  had  raced  with 
him  for  certain  life  from  the  death  which  might  be 
imminent.  Emperatriz  had  whined  and  had 
pounded  her  tail  restlessly  against  the  planks  of  the 
floor.  Then  she  had  arisen,  and  stood  with  her 
great  forepaws  resting  upon  Beltran's  shoulder, 
gazing  with  anxiety  that  was  almost  human  into 
his  face. 

"Caramba  Hombre!"  Beltran  had  said,  as  he 
threw  the  great  beast  away  from  him.  Then  he 
had  laughed.  "I  am  like  the  peons,  who  address 
even  the  women  so.  It  does  mean  a  storm,  Em 
peratriz,  old  girl,  but  I  do  not  care  to  go." 

He    had    opened    the    outer    door.      The   great 


SAN  ISIDRO 

hound  had  darted  through,  leaped  from  the  veranda 
to  the  ground,  and  fled  toward  the  south,  barking 
as  she  ran  at  the  encroaching  enemy.  She  had  cir 
cled  round  the  casa,  nose  in  air,  her  whimpering 
cries  ascending  to  the  sky,  which  shone,  as  yet,  blue 
overhead.  Then  back  she  had  torn  to  the  steps, 
and  bounding  up  and  in  at  the  door,  had  crouched 
at  her  master's  feet,  her  nose  upon  the  leather  of 
his  shoe,  her  flanks  curved  high.  Then  she  had 
leaped  upon  him  again.  She  had  taken  his  sleeve 
gently  between  her  teeth  as  if  to  compel  him  to 
safety,  then  crouched  again,  flapping  her  great  tail 
upon  the  floor,  her  eyes  raised  to  his,  her  whine 
pleading  like  the  tones  of  a  human  voice.  Beltran 
had  shaken  the  dog  away. 

"I  am  not  going,  Emperatriz,"  he  had  said, 
impatiently.  "Be  off  with  you!" 

A  few  more  circlings  round  the  casa,  a  few  more 
appealing  cries,  a  backward  glance  and  a  backward 
bark,  and  Emperatriz  had  started  for  the  rancho, 
and  none  too  soon.  The  potrero  had  become  a 
shallow  lake,  through  which  she  splashed  before 
she  had  placed  her  forefeet  upon  the  rise. 

"Hasten,  Agueda!  Come!  Come!"  called  Belt- 
ran. 

Agueda  ran  to  the  ladder,  which  was  ever  ready 
for  just  such  surprises.  It  was  the  expected  which 
usually  did  not  happen  at  San  Isidro,  but  the  lad- 


SAN   ISIDRO 

der  was  always  there,  fastened  secure  and  firm, 
rivetted  to  the  floor  and  roof  alike.  It  could  move 
but  with  the  house.  Agueda  stepped  lightly  upon 
the  rungs,  one  after  the  other.  She  raised  the  bas 
ket  up  to  Don  Beltran's  down-reaching  grasp.  He 
took  it,  placed  it  upon  the  gently  sloping  roof,  and 
held  out  a  kindly  hand  to  the  girl,  but  Agueda  did 
not  take  it  at  once.  She  descended  the  ladder  a 
round  or  two,  and  from  a  nail  in  a  near-by  beam 
seized  a  coat  which  Don  Beltran  wore  sometimes 
when  the  nights  were  cool,  and  the  trade  winds 
blew  up  too  freshly  from  the  sea.  When  she 
climbed  again  to  the  opening  in  the  thatch,  Don 
Beltran  was  leaning  against  the  old  stone  chimney, 
which  raised  its  moss-grown  head  between  the  casa 
and  cocina.  He  had  forgotten  the  girl.  His  hori 
zontal  palm  shaded  his  eyes  from  the  ray  of  the  level 
sun.  There  was  no  sign  of  fear  visible  upon  his 
face ;  he  appeared  rather  like  an  interested  observer, 
which  indeed  he  was,  for  he  felt  secure  and  safe,  for 
himself,  his  people,  and  his  cattle. 

"See  the  commotion  among  the  forests  up  there, 
near  Palmacristi,  Agueda!  It  may  be  only  a  slight 
storm  and  quickly  over,  but  if  we  do  have  a  flood 
like  the  last  one,  I  have  no  wish  that  Garcia  and 
Manuel  Medina  shall  float  in  at  my  front  door  in 
their  dugouts  and  carry  off  all  things  movable.  It 
is  so  easy  to  lay  everything  to  the  flood!" 

12 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"The  men  have  been  moving  the  furniture  for  an 
hour  past,  Seflor.  I  think  there  is  little  that  can 
be  carried  away." 

Don  Beltran  gave  a  sudden  start. 

"Where  is  the  cross,  Agueda?  Did  you  remem 
ber  that?" 

"I  have  it  here,  Seflor."  Agueda  laid  her  hand 
upon  the  bosom  of  her  gown.  "And  the  Sefior's 
little  cart,  that  is  locked  within  the  inner  cupboard. 
It  cannot  go  unless  the  casa  goes  also." 

"And  in  that  case  I  should  want  it  no  more  in 
this  world,  Agueda.  You  are  thoughtful,  child. 
The  two  souvenirs  of  my  mother!  Ah,  see!"  As 
he  spoke  there  was  a  stir  among  the  treetops  far 
over  to  the  westward.  There,  where  yellow-brown 
clouds  hung  massed  and  solid  as  a  wall  over  the  rift 
below,  a  strange  agitation  was  visible. 

"It  is  a  dance,  'Gueda.  Do  you  see  them,  those 
fairies?  Watch  that  one  advancing  there,  to  the 
southward.  She  approaches  the  lady  from  the  east. 
See  them  skip  and  whirl  and  pass  as  if  in  a  qua 
drille.  It  is  a  pretty  sight.  You  will  see  that  once 
in  a  lifetime — not  oftener.  They  call  it  the  trompa 
marina  at  sea." 

Agueda  raised  her  eyes  and  looked  smiling 
towards  the  spot  to  which  he  nodded.  There  white 
and  twisting  spirals  danced  and  swayed  against  that 
lurid  background,  and  above  the  deep  bay,  which 

13 


SAN  ISIDRO 

was  hidden  by  the  hills.  They  advanced,  they 
retreated,  they  dipped  like  sprites  from  palm  tuft 
to  palm  tuft.  Sometimes  they  skipped  gaily  in 
couples,  again  one  was  left  to  follow  three  or  four 
that  had  their  heads  close  together,  like  school 
children  telling  secrets.  It  was  all  so  human  and 
everyday-like,  that  Agueda  laughed  gaily  and 
gazed  fascinated  at  the  antics  of  these  children  of 
the  storm.  The  long,  ragged-edged  split  in  the 
angry  clouds  disclosed  a  blood-red  glow  behind, 
which  sent  its  glare  down  through  the  valley  and 
across  the  woods,  where  it  flecked  the  tree  trunks. 
From  Beltran's  vantage  point  the  palm  shafts  stood 
black  as  night  against  the  glare.  When  he  turned 
and  looked  behind  him,  unwilling  to  lose  a  single 
bit  of  this  latest  painting  from  the  brush  of  nature, 
he  found  that  she  had  dashed  every  tree  trunk  with 
one  gorgeous  splash  of  ruddy  gold. 

Agueda  lifted  her  basket  and  carried  it  to  the 
chimenea  unaided.  Beltran  was  so  absorbed  in  the 
grand  sight  that  he  had  forgotten  to  be  kind. 
There  was  usually  no  thought  of  gallantry  in  what 
he  did  for  the  girl,  but  even  the  natural  kindliness 
of  his  manner  was  in  abeyance.  Agueda  set  the 
basket  behind  the  great  stone  wall.  She  remem 
bered  what  he  had  said  the  last  time  they  had 
sought  shelter  from  the  water.  "It  is  ridiculous, 
that  great  chimney,"  he  had  said:  "but  even  the 


SAN  ISIDRO 

absurd  things  of  life  have  their  uses."  She  remem 
bered  how  she  had  crouched  in  her  mother's  arms 
the  whole  long  day,  but  beyond  a  few  drops  there 
had  been  no  cloud-burst,  no  flood  that  came  higher 
than  the  top  step  of  the  veranda.  They  had  de 
scended  at  night  dry  and  unharmed. 

"It  may  be  like  the  last  one,"  she  ventured  to 
say.  But  her  sentence  was  drowned.  There  came 
a  rustling  and  swaying  sound  from  afar,  growing 
louder  as  it  approached.  Beltran  noted  the  ruth 
less  path  which  it  indicated,  and  then,  "there  came 
a  rushing,  mighty  wind  from  Heaven."  It  fell 
upon  the  tall  lilies  as  if  they  were  grass,  bent  them 
to  the  earth,  and  laid  them  prostrate.  Some  of 
them,  denizens  of  the  soil  more  tenacious  of  their 
hold  than  others,  clung  to  Mother  Earth  with  the 
grip  of  the  inheritor  of  primogeniture.  But  the 
struggle  was  brief. 

"I  was  certain  that  those  I  planted  upside  down 
would  stand,"  said  Beltran  to  Agueda.  "I  allowed 
twelve-inch  holes,  too."  But  there  comes  a  time 
when  precaution  is  proven  of  no  avail.  The  mas 
sive  stalks  were  torn  from  their  holdings  like  so 
much  straw,  and  laid  low  with  1  heir  weaker  brothers. 
As  they  began  to  fall  in  the  near  field,  "It  is  upon 
us!"  shouted  Beltran.  He  seized  Agueda's  wrist 
and  drew  her  behind  the  chimney.  And  there  they 
cowered  as  the  wind  raved  past  them  on  either  side, 


SAN  ISIDRO 

carrying  heavy  missiles  on  its  strong  wings.  At 
this  Beltran's  face  showed  for  the  first  time  some 
uneasiness. 

He  was  peering  out  from  behind  his  stone  bul 
wark. 

"There  goes  Aranguez's  casa, "  he  said,  regret 
fully.  "I  had  no  thought  of  that.  I  wish  I  had 
sent  you  to  the  rancho,  child." 

They  crouched  low  behind  the  chimney.  He 
clung  to  one  of  the  staples  mortared  in  the  inter 
stices  of  the  stone- work,  against  just  such  a  day  as 
this,  and  braced  his  foot  beneath  the  eaves.  Again 
he  peered  cautiously  out.  A  whistling,  rustling 
sound  had  made  him  curious  as  to  its  source. 

The  river,  which  had  been  flowing  tranquilly  but 
a  few  minutes  before,  now  threw  upward  white 
and  pointed  arms  of  foam.  They  reached  to  the 
branches,  which  threshed  through  open  space,  and 
swayed  over  to  meet  their  supplication,  then 
straightened  a  moment  to  bend  again  to  north,  to 
east,  to  west.  The  floods  had  fallen  fiercely  upon 
the  defenceless  bosom  of  the  gentle  Rio  Frio,  had 
beaten  and  lashed  it  and  overcome  it,  so  that  it 
mingled  perforce  with  its  conqueror,  while  raising 
appealing  arms  for  mercy.  It  grieved,  it  tossed,  it 
wept,  it  wailed,  but  its  invader  shrieked  gleefully  as 
he  hurried  his  helpless  prize  down  through  the 
savannas  to  that  welcoming  tyrant,  the  sea. 

16 


SAN  ISIDRO 

The  water  crept  rapidly  up  toward  the  foundation 
of  the  casa.  It  washed  underneath  the  high  floor 
ing.  It  lapped  against  the  pilotijos.  It  carried 
underneath  the  house  branches  and  twigs  which  it 
had  brought  down  in  its  mad  rush  toward  the  low 
lands.  As  it  rose  higher  and  higher,  it  wove  the 
banana  stalks  and  wisps  of  straw  which  it  bore 
upon  its  bosom  in  and  out  between  the  trunks  and 
stems  of  trees.  With  the  skill  of  an  old-time 
weaver,  it  interlaced  them  through  the  upright 
growth  which  edged  the  bank.  One  saw  the  vege 
table  fabric  there  for  years  after,  unless  the  sun  and 
rain  had  rotted  it  away,  and  another  flood  had 
replaced  within  the  warp  a  fresher  woof. 

Beltran  arose  and  took  a  few  cautious  steps  upon 
the  roof,  but  the  wind,  if  warm,  was  fierce,  and 
thrust  him  back  with  violence.  He  barely  escaped 
being  dashed  to  the  new-made  lake  below.  He 
caught  at  the  chimenea,  and  edging  slowly  round, 
seated  himself  again  by  Agueda.  She  had  been 
calling  to  him,  and  had  stretched  out  her  hand.  Her 
eyes  showed  her  fear,  and  also  the  relief  which  his 
presence  gave  her.  When  she  felt  that  he  was  safe 
beside  her  she  made  no  further  sign. 

Beltran  had  laid  his  hand  on  Agueda's  shoulder 
as  he  would  have  done  upon  the  chimney  itself. 
By  it  he  steadied  himself  in  taking  his  seat.  She 
raised  her  eyes  and  shyly  offered  him  his  coat.  He 

17 


SAN  ISIDRO 

shook  his  head  with  a  smile.  His  lips  moved,  but 
she  could  hear  no  word  for  the  noise  of  the  wind 
and  water.  Don  Beltran  put  his  hand  to  his  mouth 
and  placed  his  lips  to  Agueda's  ear. 

"Do  not  be  afraid,"  he  shouted.  "There  is 
really  no  danger." 

She  shook  her  head  and  glanced  up  at  him  again, 
dropping  almost  at  once  the  childish  eyes  to  the 
hands  in  her  lap.  She  moved  a  little  nearer  to 
their  dividing  line,  and  called  in  answer: 

"I  am  not  afraid." 

He  saw  her  lips  move,  and  guessed  at  the  words, 
though  her  look  of  confidence  would  have  answered 
him.  Why  had  he  never  noticed  those  eyes  before? 
Was  it  because  she  had  always  kept  them  cast 
down?  What  slim  hands  the  girl  had!  What 
shapely  shoulders !  He  looked  at  them  as  they  rested 
against  the  weather-beaten  stones  of  the  chimney. 

Agueda  turned  her  head  backward  and  clutched 
quickly  at  the  light  handkerchief  which  confined 
the  waves  of  her  short  hair.  She  laughed  and 
looked  upward  at  Don  Beltran  from  under  her 
sweeping  lashes.  Her  soul  went  forth  to  meet  his 
gaze,  unconscious  as  a  little  child  that  she  had  a 
secret  to  tell ;  unconscious  that  the  next  moment 
she  had  told  it.  How  can  one  tell  anything  except 
by  word  of  mouth? 

Beltran  drew  sharply  back,  as  far  as  the  con- 
18 


SAN  ISIDRO 

tracted  space  would  allow.  He  leaned  over  the 
edge  of  the  roof,  and  saw  that  the  water  was  now 
sweeping  through  the  casa,  flowing  more  slowly  as 
it  spread  over  a  greater  space.  It  glided  in  at  the 
doors  and  out  at  the  windows,  which  he  had  left 
open  purposely,  not  dreaming,  it  is  true,  that  this 
flood  would  be  greater  than  others  of  its  kind,  but 
that  in  case  it  should  be,  the  resistance  might  be 
less.  Glancing  down  stream,  he  saw  a  chair  and 
some  tin  pans  bobbing  and  courtesying  to  each 
other  as  they  drifted  across  the  potrero  where  the 
cattle  usually  browsed. 

The  sun  declined,  the  dusk  came  creeping  down, 
and  with  the  approach  of  night  the  wind  subsided. 
Fortunately  there  was  no  rain.  The  clouds  had 
been  carried  in  from  the  sea  at  right  angles  with  the 
stream,  and  had  broken  in  the  mountains  and 
poured  out  their  torrents  there. 

Still  the  rushing  of  the  river  drowned  all  other 
sounds.  It  grew  quite  dark.  Beltran  "leaned  back 
against  the  chimenea.  The  slight  creature  at  his 
side  rested,  also,  in  silence.  The  darkness  became 
intense.  The  chimenea  was  needed  no  longer  as  a 
protection  from  the  wind,  but  the  utter  absence  of  all 
light  made  the  slightest  motion  dangerous.  A  chill 
mist  crept  up  from  the  sea.  The  night  began  to  grow 
cold,  as  do  the  tropic  nights  of  midwinter.  Beltran 
shivered.  Something  was  pushed  against  his  hand, 

'9 


SAN  ISIDRO 

He  reached  down  and  felt  another  hand,  a  hand 
slim  and  cold.  He  took  it  within  his  own,  but  it 
was  at  once  withdrawn,  and  a  rough  and  heavy 
article  thrown  across  his  knees.  He  felt  some  but 
tons,  a  pocket  which  held  papers,  a  collar.  Ah !  It 
must  be  his  woollen  coat,  which  she  had  had  the 
forethought  to  bring.  Feeling  for  the  sleeve,  he 
threw  the  coat  round  his  shoulders,  and  with  a 
resolve  born  in  a  moment,  reached  out  toward 
Agueda.  His  groping  fingers  fell  upon  her  sweet 
throat  and  the  tendrils  of  her  boyish  hair,  the  great 
dark  rings,  which,  now  that  he  could  not  see  them, 
he  suddenly  remembered.  Throwing  his  arm  around 
her,  he  drew  the  damp  and  shivering  figure  close. 
Then  he  grasped  the  sleeve  of  his  coat,  and  drew  it 
towards  him,  forcing  her  head  down  upon  his  breast. 
He  sought  the  other  hand,  and  later  found  the 
tremulous  lips.  He  held  his  willing  prisoner  close, 
and  so  they  sat  the  whole  night  through. 

Many  and  strange  thoughts  rushed  through 
Agueda's  brain  during  those  blissful  hours.  Life 
began  for  her  then,  and  she  found  it  well  worth  liv 
ing.  She  awoke.  Her  child's  heart  sprang  into 
full  being,  to  lie  dormant  never  again.  Nada's 
words  came  back  to  her.  She  did  not  wish  to 
recall  them,  but  they  forced  themselves  upon  her: 
"Never  trust  a  gentleman,  Agueda;  he  will  only 
betray  you." 

30 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"I  should  think  much  of  your  warning,  Nada," 
thought  Agueda,  "if  I  saw  other  gentlemen.  I 
never  do  see  them.  If  I  do,  he  will  protect  me." 
The  danger  had  not  arrived.  It  could  never  come 
now.  She  had  found  her  bulwark  and  her  defence. 


II 


"When  the  flood  has  subsided,"  Agueda  had 
said  to  herself,  "all  will  be  as  before.  But  stay! 
Would  anything  ever  be  as  before?  Well,  what 
matter?  Who  would  go  back?  Shall  we  not  trust 
those  whom  we  love?  Life  is  the  better  for  it. 
This  was  life.  Life  was  all  happiness,  all  joy.  The 
future?  There  was  to  be  no  future  but  this.  This 
life  of  hers  and  his  should  be  the  same  until  death 
claimed  the  one  or  the  other.  God  grant  that  they 
might  go  together,  rather  than  that  one  should  be 
left  behind.  Let  them  go  in  a  greater  flood,  per 
haps,  than  the  one  which  they  had  outspent  upon 
the  thatched  roof  in  the  shelter  of  the  old  chimenea. 

Agueda  knew  not  the  meaning  of  those  words  of 
calculation — "the  world."  She  had  never  known 
the  world,  she  had  never  seen  the  world.  She 
found  herself  living  as  many  did  about  her.  Only 
that  they  had  heart-burnings,  jealousies,  disappoint 
ments,  and  sorrows.  She  was  secure,  and  she 
pitied  them  that  their  lots  had  not  been  cast  within 
so  safe  a  fold  as  hers.  Her  nature,  if  ignorant,  was 
undefiled  and  undepraved ;  and  noble,  in  that  she 

22 


SAN  ISIDRO 

found  no  sacrifice  too  great  for  this  splendid  young 
god  who  claimed  her.  What  else  was  her  mission  in 
life  but  to  make  his  life  as  near  Heaven  as  earthly 
existence  could  become?  She  stretched  out  her 
young  arms  to  the  sky  with  a  glow  of  happiness 
that  asked  nothing  further  of  God.  There  were 
the  mountains,  the  fields,  the  forests,  the  planta 
tions,  the  river,  and  the  rambling,  thatched  casa. 
These  made  for  her  the  world. 

Sometimes  she  thought  of  and  pitied  Aneta  at 
El  Cuco.  Poor  Aneta,  who  had  thought  that  a 
life-long  happiness  was  hers,  when  suddenly  one 
day  Don  Mateo  had  returned  from  the  city  with  a 
bride. 

"Poor  Aneta!"  Agueda  used  often  to  say,  with 
a  pitying  smile  through  which  her  own  contentment 
broke  in  ripples  of  joy.  How  could  she  trust  a 
man  like  Don  Mateo?  As  Agueda  sat  and  thought, 
she  mended  with  anxious  but  unskilled  fingers  the 
pile  of  linen  which  old  Juana  had  brought  in  from 
the  ironing  room.  Juana  had  clumped  along  the 
back  veranda  and  set  the  basket  down  with  a  heavy 
thump.  There  were  table  linen  and  bed  linen, 
there  were  the  Seller's  striped  shirts  of  fine  material 
from  the  North,  and  his  dainty  underwear,  and 
Agueda's  neat  waists  and  collars  keeping  company 
with  them  in  truly  domestic  manner.  Agueda  had 
never  done  menial  work;  Uncle  Adan's  position  as 

23 


SAN   ISIDRO 

manager  of  the  plantation  had  secured  something 
better  for  his  niece. 

If  Uncle  Adan  knew  the  truth,  he  made  no  sign. 
The  lax  state  of  morals  in  the  country  had  always 
been  the  same.  In  reality  he  saw  no  harm  in  it. 
Besides  which,  had  he  wished  to,  what  change 
could  he  make — he,  a  simple  manager  and  farming 
man,  against  the  owner  of  the  hacienda,  a  rich  and 
powerful  Sefior  from  Adan's  point  of  view. 

Suddenly  Agueda  remembered  that  she  had  not 
seen  Aneta  for  a  long  time.  She  would  go  now, 
this  very  minute,  and  pay  the  visit  so  long  over 
due.  She  arose  at  once.  With  characteristic  care 
lessness  she  dropped  the  sheet  upon  which  she  had 
been  engaged  on  the  floor,  took  from  its  peg  the 
old  straw  hat,  and  clapped  it  over  her  boyish  curls. 
The  hat  was  yellow,  it  had  a  peaked  crown,  and 
twisted  round  the  crown  was  a  handkerchief  of  pale 
blue.  Agueda  made  no  toilet;  she  hardly  looked 
at  her  smiling  image  in  the  glass.  From  the  corner 
of  the  room  she  took  a  time-worn  umbrella,  which 
had  once  been  white,  and  started  towards  the  door. 
A  backward  glance  showed  her  the  confusion  of  the 
room.  For  herself  she  did  not  care,  but  the  Sefior 
might  come  in  perhaps  before  her  return.  He  had 
gone  to  the  mail-station  across  the  bay ;  the  post- 
office  and  the  bank  were  both  there.  He  was 
bringing  home  some  bags  of  pesos  with  which  to 

24 


SAN   ISIDRO 

pay  his  men.  Possibly  he  would  bring  a  letter  or 
two  from  the  fruit  agents,  or  the  merchant  to  whom 
he  sold  the  little  coffee  that  he  raised;  but  the 
pesos  were  more  of  a  certainty  than  the  letters.  If 
he  returned  home  before  her,  the  sitting-room 
would  have  a  disorderly  appearance,  and  he  dis 
liked  disorder.  His  mother,  the  Dona  Maria,  had 
been  a  very  neat  old  lady. 

There  are  some  persons  to  whom  order  and  neat 
ness  are  inborn.  With  a  touch  of  a  deft  finger 
here  or  there,  an  apartment  becomes  at  once  a  place 
where  the  most  critical  may  enter.  To  others  it  is 
a  labor  to  make  a  room  appear  well  cared  for.  It 
may  be  immaculate  in  all  that  pertains  to  dust  or 
the  thorough  cleanliness  of  linen  or  woodwork,  but 
the  power  to  so  impress  the  beholder  is  lacking. 
Agueda  was  one  of  these.  She  sighed  as  she  gazed 
at  the  unkempt  appearance  of  the  room.  There 
was  not  much  the  matter,  and  yet  she  did  not  know 
how  to  remedy  it.  She  re-entered  the  room  and 
picked  up  the  sheet  from  the  floor,  together  with  a 
pillow-slip  whose  starched  glossiness  had  caused  it 
to  slide  down  to  keep  the  sheet  company.  Folding 
these,  not  any  too  precisely,  she  laid  them  upon 
the  chair  where  she  had  lately  sat.  Then  she 
glanced  around  the  room  again.  Its  careless  air 
still  offended  her,  but  time  was  flying,  and  she  had 
a  long  walk  before  her.  Suddenly  she  put  her 

25 


SAN  ISIDRO 

hand  to  her  ear  and  took  from  behind  it  the  rose 
that  had  been  there  since  early  morning.  It  was 
the  first  that  she  had  struggled  to  raise,  and  it  had 
repaid  her  efforts,  in  that  hot  section  of  the  coun 
try,  by  dwining  and  dwindling  like  a  puny  child. 
Still,  it  was  a  rose.  She  laid  it  on  the  badly  folded 
sheet;  it  gave  an  air  of  habitation  to  the  room. 
She  smiled  down  at  this,  her  messenger.  She  gave 
the  linen  a  final  pat  and  went  out,  closing  the  door 
softly.  It  was  as  if  a  young  mother  had  left  her 
sleeping  child  to  be  awakened  by  its  father,  should 
he  be  the  first  to  return. 

"It  is  something  of  me,"  thought  Agueda.  "It 
will  be  the  first  to  greet  him." 

Agueda  stepped  out  on  the  broad  veranda.  The 
loose  old  boards  creaked  even  under  her  slight 
weight. 

"Juana!"  she  called,  "I'm  going  to  see  Aneta  at 
El  Cuco."  She  made  no  other  explanation.  He 
would  ask  as  soon  as  he  returned,  and  they  would 
tell  him. 

"Youah  neva  fin  youah  roaad  in  dis  yer  fawg, " 
squeaked  Juana. 

"The  fog  may  lift,"  laughed  Agueda. 

The  river,  forgetful  of  its  past  turbulence,  smiled 
and  glanced  and  beckoned  as  it  slipped  tranquilly 
onward,  but  Agueda  did  not  answer  the  summons. 
She  turned  abruptly  to  the  right  and  crossed  the 

36 


SAN  ISIDRO 

well-known  potrero  path.  This  led  her  for  a  quar 
ter  of  a  mile  through  the  mellow  pasture-land, 
where  horses  were  browsing.  The  grey  was  not 
there — sure  sign  of  his  master's  absence,  but  the 
little  chestnut  was  in  evidence,  and  farther  along, 
beyond  the  wire  fence,  were  the  great  bulls,  which 
had  not  been  driven  afield  with  the  suckers.  There 
stood  Csesar,  the  big  brown  bull  with  the  great,  irreg 
ular  white  spots.  Agueda  went  close  to  the  fence, 
and  picked  a  handful  of  sweet  herbs,  such  as  Caesar 
loved. 

"Caesar,"  she  called,  "Caesar,  it  is  I  that  have 
the  sweet  things  for  you." 

Caesar  threw  up  his  head  quickly,  tossing  long 
strings  of  saliva  into  the  air.  He  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  with  hesitant  look,  then  perceiving  that  it 
was  Agueda,  trotted,  tail  held  stiff,  to  where  she 
waited,  her  hand  held  out  to  him.  He  extended 
his  thick  neck,  holding  his  wet,  pink  nostrils  just 
over  the  barrier,  wound  his  dripping  tongue  round 
the  dainty,  and  then  withdrew  his  head  that  he 
might  eat  with  ease. 

"Too  bad,  poor  Caesar,  that  the  horses  get  all  the 
sweets,  and  you  none."  With  awkward  arm  held 
high,  that  she  might  not  catch  her  sleeve  upon  the 
topmost  wire,  she  patted  the  animal's  nose;  then 
thrust  one  more  bunch  of  grass  into  the  ready 
cavity,  and  turning,  ran  along  toward  the  rise. 

27 


SAN  ISIDRO 

When  Agueda  had  closed  the  rickety  potrero 
gate,  she  started  up  the  elevation  which  confronted 
her.  Here  the  young  bananas  were  just  showing 
above  the  ground.  She  had  deplored  the  fact  that 
this  pretty  hill-forest  had  been  sacrificed  to  banana 
culture,  and  had  hated  to  see  the  great  giants  which 
she  had  known  from  childhood  cut  and  slashed. 
At  the  fall  of  each  one  of  them  she  had  felt  as  if 
she  had  lost  a  friend.  "I  shall  never  sit  under  the 
gri-gri  again,"  she  had  thought,  "and  eat  my 
guavas  as  I  look  down  on  the  river";  or,  "I  shall 
never  again  play  house  beneath  the  old  mahogany 
that  stood  up  there  at  the  edge  of  the  meadow." 
The  face  of  nature  was  changed  for  her  in  this  par 
ticular.  It  was  the  only  thing  that  she  had  to 
make  her  unhappy.  Who  among  us  would  think 
the  world  a  sadder  place  because  of  the  felling  of  a 
tree!  The  stumps  stood  even  with  Agueda's  shoul 
der,  for  Natalio,  that  African  giant,  was  the  axe 
man  of  the  hacienda.  His  ringing  -  strokes  struck 
hip  high.  It  was  less  work  to  cut  through  the 
trunk  some  distance  above  its  spreading  roots. 
There  was  no  clearing  up  nor  carrying  away  of 
branches  or  limbs.  With  all  their  massive  foliage, 
the  branches  were  hacked  from  the  parent  stem, 
and  left  to  dry  in  the  tropic  sun.  They  were  then 
placed  in  great  piles  about  the  mother  tree,  lighted, 
and  left  to  burn.  Sometimes  these  fallen  denizens 

28 


SAN  ISIDRO 

of  the  wood,  whose  life  had  seen  generations  of 
puny  men  fade  and  wither,  and  other  generations 
spring  up  and  die  while  they  stood  splendid  and 
vigourous,  refused  to  be  annihilated.  The  fallen 
trunk  remained  for  years,  proof  of  the  vandalism  of 
man.  More  often,  a  long  line  of  ashes  marked  the 
spot  where  the  giant  had  blazed,  then  smouldered 
sullenly,  to  become  wind-blown,  intangible.  This 
great  woodland  crematory  having  been  made  ready 
by  death  for  the  life  that  was  to  spring  up  through 
its  vanquishment,  the  peons  came  with  their 
machetes  and  dug  the  graves  in  which  the  bulbs, 
teeming  with  quiescent  life,  were  to  be  planted,  each 
sucker  twelve  feet  from  any  one  of  its  neighbors, 
there  to  be  warmed  and  nurtured  in  the  bosom  of 
Mother  Earth.  Because  exposed  upon  a  windy  hill 
side,  the  bulbs  had  been  placed  in  their  graves  head 
and  sprouting  end  downward,  and  at  the  depth  of 
ten  inches.  This  was  a  provision  against  hurri 
canes,  which,  with  all  their  power,  find  it  difficult 
to  uproot  so  securely  planted  a  stalk. 

And  now  the  field  which  she  had  helped  to 
"avita" — for  one  gives  in  when  the  tide  of  circum 
stances  flows  too  strong — the  waste  whose  seed- 
graves  she  had  seen  dug,  whose  bulbs  she  had  seen 
buried  from  sight,  had  suddenly  become  a  field  of 
life  once  more.  Pale  green  spears  were  springing  up 
in  every  direction — a  light,  wonderful  green  with  a 

29 


SAN  ISIDRO 

tinge  of  yellow.  The  spatulated  leaves  were  hand 
somest,  Agueda  thought,  when  spotted  or  marked 
with  brown,  or  a  rich  chocolate  shade.  In  their 
tender  infancy  they  were  the  loveliest  things  on 
earth,  she  thought,  as  she  ran  about  the  damp,  hot 
hillside,  comparing  one  with  another;  and  as  she 
again  returned  to  the  path,  she  nearly  stumbled 
against  the  ebony  giant,  who,  standing  just  at  the 
edge  of  the  field,  was  watching  her. 

"It  is  wonderful,  Natalio,"  she  said,  "how 
quickly  they  have  sprouted."  She  smiled  up 
ward. 

"Si,  Sefiorit',"  said  Natalio,  smiling  down.  "It 
is  the  early  rains  that  bring  the  life.  Perhaps  the 
good  God  may  be  thanked  a  little,  too,  but  it  is 
the  good  soil,  and  the  rains  most  of  all." 

He  stooped  his  great  height,  and  took  some  of 
the  earth  in  his  fingers.  "It  is  the  caliche  so  the 
Seftor  says."  He  rubbed  the  disintegrated  gravelly 
mass  between  his  fingers.  Some  of  it  powdered 
away.  The  fine  bits  of  stone  that  it  contained 
dropped  in  a  faint  patter  upon  his  feet. 

"I  never  heard  the  Seflor  say  that,"  said  Agueda, 
with  the  air  of  one  who  would  know  what  were  the 
Sefior's  favourite  convictions,  "but  of  course  he 
knows,  the  Senor. " 

"Bieng, "  said  Natalio.  "It  is  certain  that  the 
Senor  knows." 

3° 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Agueda  moved  on  up  the  hill.  She  felt,  crunch 
ing  beneath  her  feet,  the  shells  of  the  circular  grub 
which  had  lost  life  and  home  in  this  terrific  holo 
caust. 

"It  seems  hard,"  mused  Agueda,  "that  some 
things  must  die  that  other  things  may  be  created." 
She  smiled  as  she  said  this.  She  need  not  die  that 
other  things  might  live.  It  had  no  personal  appli 
cation  for  her.  At  least  it  would  not  have  for  sixty 
or  eighty  years,  and  that  was  a  whole  lifetime.  She 
might  not  be  glad  to  die  even  then !  Agueda  had 
reached  the  summit  of  the  hill.  She  turned  to  look 
back  at  Natalio.  He  was  standing  gazing  after  her. 
When  he  saw  her  turn  he  expanded  his  handsome 
lips  into  a  smile,  showing  his  white  teeth.  Then 
he  uncovered  his  head,  and  swept  the  ground  with 
his  ragged  Panama  hat.  He  called ;  Agueda  could 
not  hear  at  first  what  he  said. 

"Que  es  eso?"  she  called  back  in  answer. 

Natalio  approached  a  few  feet  with  his  great 
strides. 

"I  asked  if  theSenorit'  would  not  ride  the  bull?" 

"Pablo  is  away,"  said  Agueda.  "I  cannot  go 
alone.  The  Sefior  will  not  have  me  to  ride  the  bull 
alone." 

"El  Caballo  Castano,  Senorit',"  said  Natalio, 
suggestively,  approaching  nearer. 

"Would  you  saddle  him,  Natalio?"  asked 
31 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Agueda,  thinking  this  an  excellent  change  of  pro 
gramme. 

"It  would  give  me  pleasure,  Senorit',"  said 
Natalio. 

Agueda  turned  and  began  to  walk  rapidly  down 
the  hill. 

"The  small  man's  saddle,  Natalio,"  she  called. 
"I  will  be  ready  in  a  moment."  Agueda  ran  down 
the  hill,  keeping  ahead  of  the  giant,  and  sped 
across  the  potrero.  She  flew  to  her  room.  There 
lay  the  rose  as  she  had  left  it  upon  the  chair,  but 
she  had  no  time  for  sentiment.  The  horse  would 
be  at  the  door  in  a  moment,  and  indeed,  before  she 
had  changed  her  skirt  for  the  cotton  riding  garment 
that  she  usually  wore,  and  which  our  ladies  have 
imported  of  late  under  the  name  of  a  divided  skirt, 
Natalio  was  at  the  steps.  Agueda  buckled  on  her 
spur,  and  was  out  on  the  veranda  in  the  twinkling 
of  an  eye.  Uncle  Adan  was  coming  up  from  the 
river.  He  saw  her  stand  upon  the  second  step  and 
throw  her  leg  boy-fashion  over  the  saddle,  seize  the 
whip  from  Natalio,  and  canter  away  again  toward 
the  hill.  To  his  shout  of  "Where  are  you  going?" 
she  flung  back  the  words,  "To  Aneta's,"  and  was 
off. 

Her  easy  seat  astride  the  animal  gave  her  a  sense 
of  freedom  and  independence.  The  top  of  the  hill 
reached,  she  struck  off  toward  Troja,  on  the  other 

32 


SAN  ISIDRO 

side  of  which  lived  Aneta,  at  El  Cuco.  Agueda 
galloped  along  the  damp  roads,  and  then  clattered 
through  the  streets  of  the  quiet  little  West  Indian 
town.  Arrived  upon  its  further  outskirts,  she 
allowed  the  chestnut  to  walk,  for  he  was  warm  and 
tired.  She  was  passing  at  the  back  of  Escpbeda's 
casa,  through  a  narrow  lane  shaded  with  coffee 
trees.  The  wall  of  the  casa  descended  abruptly  to 
this  lane,  the  garden  being  in  front,  facing  the 
broad  camino.  Agueda  heard  her  name  softly 
called.  She  halted  and  looked  towards  the  casa. 
A  shutter  just  at  the  side  of  the  balcony  moved 
almost  imperceptibly,  then  was  pushed  open  a  trifle, 
and  she  saw  a  face,  the  face  of  Raquel,  the  niece  of 
Escobeda.  Raquel  had  her  finger  upon  her  lips. 
Agueda  guided  her  horse  near,  in  as  cautious  a  man 
ner  as  could  be.  When  she  was  well  under  the 
opening,  Raquel  spoke  again. 

"It  is  Agueda,  is  it  not?  Agueda  from  San 
Isidro?" 

Raquel  whispered  her  words.  Agueda,  seeing 
that  there  was  need  for  secrecy,  also  let  her  voice 
fall  lower  than  was  usual. 

"Yes,"  she  smiled,  "I  am  certainly  Agueda  from 
San  Isidro." 

"Ah!  you  happy  girl,"  said  Raquel,  in  a  cautious 
tone,  "to  be  riding  about  alone."  Agueda's  head 
was  almost  on  a  level  with  Raquel's. 

33 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"I  am  a  prisoner,  Agueda,"  said  Raquel.  "My 
uncle  has  shut  me  up  here.  He  means  to  take  me 
away  in  a  short  time.  It's  a  dreadful  thing  which 
is  to  happen.  Can  you  carry  a  note  for  me, 
Agueda?" 

"I  will  carry  a  note  for  you,"  said  Agueda.  "Is 
it  ready,  Senorita?" 

"I  will  write  it  in  a  moment.  Agueda,  good  girl, 
you  know  the  plantation  of  the  Silencios,  do  you 
not?  Palmacristi?" 

"I  can  find  it,"  said  Agueda.  "It  is  down  by 
the  sea.  It  is  not  much  out  of  my  way." 

"If  it  were  miles  and  miles  out  of  your  way, 
Agueda,  dear,  you  must  take  my  letter.' 

"Give  it  to  me,  then,"  said  Agueda. 

There  was  a  noise  inside  the  room,  at  the  door  of 
the  chamber. 

"Ride  on  to  the  clump  of  coffee  bushes  where 
the  roads  meet,"  whispered  Raquel.  "The  fog  will 
help  hide  you,  too.  I  will  drop  the  note." 

As  she  tried  to  guide  the  chestnut  softly  over  the 
turf,  Agueda  heard  a  loud  call  from  within.  It  was 
a  man's  coarse  voice.  She  heard  Raquel  answer 
drowsily,  "In  a  moment,  uncle;  I  was  just  asleep. 
Wait  until  I — " 

Agueda  halted  for  some  minutes  behind  the  con 
cealment  of  the  coffee  bushes.  She  grudged  this 
delay,  for  she  had  still  some  distance  to  travel,  and 

34 


SAN  ISIDRO 

must  make  a  detour  because  of  Raquel's  request. 
"But,"  she  argued,  "had  I  walked,  I  should  have 
been  much  longer  on  the  way."  She  watched  the 
window  at  the  back  of  Escobeda's  house,  then,  pres 
ently,  from  the  front,  saw  a  man  mount  and  ride 
away  in  the  opposite  direction.  Then,  as  she  still 
awaited  the  fluttering  of  the  note,  the  shutter  was 
flung  wide,  and  an  arm  encased  in  a  yellow  sleeve 
beckoned  desperately.  Agueda  struck  her  spur 
into  the  chestnut,  and  was  soon  under  the  window 
again. 

"He  has  gone,"  said  Raquel,  "and  I  am  locked 
in  the  house  alone.  All  the  servants  have  gone  to 
the  fair." 

"You  can  climb  down,"  said  Agueda.  "It  is 
not  high." 

"Where  should  I  go  then,  Agueda?"  asked 
Raquel.  "No,  he  would  only  bring  me  back. 
Now  I  will  write  my  note,  and  I  will  ask  you  to 
take  it  to  Don  Gil."  As  Raquel  said  this  name 
her  voice  trembled.  She  coloured  all  over  her 
face. 

"You  are  lovely  that  way,"  said  Agueda. 
"What  does  he  do  to  you,  Senorita? — the  Senor 
Escobeda.  Does  he  starve  you?  Does  he  ill 
treat — I  could  tell  the  Sefior  Don  Beltran — " 

"You  do  not  blush  when  you  speak  of  him,"  said 
Raquel,  who  had  heard  some  rumours. 

35 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"I  have  no  cause  to  blush,"  said  Agueda,  with 
dignity.  "But  come,  Senorita,  the  note!" 

Raquel  withdrew  into  the  room.  She  scribbled 
a  few  words  on  a  piece  of  blue  paper,  folded  it,  and 
encased  it  in  a  long  thin  envelope.  This  she  sealed 
with  a  little  pink  wafer,  on  which  were  two  turtle 
doves  with  their  bills  quite  close  together.  She 
leaned  out  and  handed  the  missive  down  to 
Agueda. 

"Thank  you,  dear,"  she  said.  "I  should  like  to 
kiss  you." 

"I  should  like  much  to  have  you,"  said  Agueda. 
"Perhaps  I  can  stand  up."  Agueda  spurred  her 
horse  closer  under  the  window.  She  raised  herself 
as  high  as  she  could.  The  chestnut  started. 

"He  will  throw  you,"  said  Raquel.  "I  will  lean 
out." 

Raquel  stretched  her  young  form  as  far  out  of 
the  window  as  possible.  She  could  just  reach 
Agueda' s  forehead.  She  kissed  her  gently. 

"I  thank  you,  Senorita,"  said  Agueda.  She  felt 
the  kiss  upon  her  forehead  all  the  way  to  the  plan 
tation  ;  it  seemed  like  a  benediction.  She  did  not 
reason  out  the  cause  of  her  feeling,  but  it  was  true 
that  no  one  of  Raquel's  class  had  ever  kissed  her 
before. 

Agueda  rode  along  her  way  with  quick  gait. 
The  plantation  of  Palmacristi  was  some  miles  far- 

36 


SAN  ISIDRO 

ther  on,  and  she  wished  still  to  see  Aneta.  On  her 
way  toward  Palmacristi,  and  as  she  mounted  the 
slope  leading  to  the  casa,  she  met  no  one.  Arrived 
at  that  splendid  estate  by  the  sea,  she  spurred  her 
horse  over  the  hill  and  round  to  the  counting- 
house.  This  was  the  place,  she  had  heard,  where 
the  Senor  was  usually  to  be  found.  She  had  seen 
the  Senor  at  a  distance.  She  thought  that  she 
would  know  him. 

At  that  same  hour  the  Senor  Don  Gil  Silencio- 
y-Estrada  sat  within  his  counting-house.  The 
counting-house  was  constructed  of  the  boards  of  the 
palm,  the  inner  side  plain,  the  outer  side  curved,  as 
the  tree  had  curved.  The  bark  had  not  been 
removed.  The  roof  of  the  building  was  also  made 
of  palm  boards ;  it  was  thickly  thatched  with  yagua. 

Since  the  days  of  the  old  Don  Gil  the  finca  had 
enlarged  and  improved.  The  counting-house  stood 
within  its  small  enclosure,  its  back  against  the  side 
of  the  casa,  and  though  it  communicated  with  the 
interior  of  the  imposing  mahogany  mansion,  it 
remained  the  same  palm-board  counting-house— 
that  is,  to  the  outside  world — that  the  estate  of 
Palmacristi  had  ever  known. 

Two  tall  palms  stood  like  sentinels  upon  either 
side  of  the  low  step  before  the  doorway.  The  palm 
trees  were  dead.  They  had  been  topped  by  no  green 

37 


SAN  ISIDRO 

plume  of  leaves  since  before  the  death  of  the  old 
Don  Gil.  Now,  as  then,  the  carpenter  birds  made 
their  homes  in  the  decaying  shaft.  The  round  beak- 
made  holes,  from  root  to  treetop,  disclosed  num 
berless  heads,  if  so  much  as  a  tap  were  given  the 
resounding  stem  of  the  palm. 

No  one  wondered  why  Don  Gil  still  used  the 
ancient  structure  as  a  counting-house.  No  one  ever 
wondered  at  anything  at  Palmacristi;  everything 
was  accepted  with  quiescence.  "The  good  God 
wills  it,"  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  accompanying 
the  remark,  made  aln\e,  if  a  tornado  unroofed  a 
house  or  a  peon  died  of  the  wounds  received  at 
the  last  garito.* 

The  changes  which  had  taken  place  at  Palmacristi 
had  nothing  to  say  to  the  condition  of  the  counting- 
house,  or  it  to  them,  except  that  it  acceded,  some 
what  slowly  in  some  cases,  to  the  payment  of  bills. 
Since  his  father's  day  Don  Gil  had  added  much  to 
the  estate.  Upon  the  right  he  had  bought  more 
than  twenty  caballerias  from  Don  Luis  Salas — land 
which  marched  with  his  own  to  the  seashore.  This 
included  a  tall  headland,  with  a  sand  spit  at  its 
base,  which  pushed  itself  a  half  mile  out  into  the 
sea.  This  sand  spit  curved  in  a  hook  to  the  left, 
and  formed  a  pleasant  and  safe  harbour  for  boating. 

To   the   north   of    his    inheritance   Don  Gil  had 

*Cock-fight. 

38 


SAN   ISIDRO 

taken  in  the  old  estates  of  La  Flor  and  Prove- 
dencia,  and  at  the  back  of  the  casa,  which  already 
stood  high  up  on  the  slope,  he  had  extended  his 
possessions  over  the  crest  of  the  hill.  Had  the 
original  owner  of  Palmacristi  returned  on  a  visit  to 
earth,  he  would  have  found  his  old  plantation 
the  center  of  a  magnificent  estate,  with,  however, 
the  same  shiftless,  careless  ways  of  master  and  ser 
vant  that  had  obtained  in  his  time.  This  would 
probably  grow  worse  as  his  descendants  succeeded 
each  other  in  ownership. 

The  casa  was  built  upon  a  level,  where  the  hill 
ceased  to  be  a  hill  just  long  enough  to  allow  of  a 
broad  foundation  for  Don  Gil's  improvements.  At 
the  edge  of  the  veranda  the  hill  sloped  gently  again 
for  the  distance  of  a  hundred  yards,  and  then 
dropped  in  a  short  but  steep  declivity  to  the  sand 
beach. 

The  old  habitation  had  been  built  entirely  of 
palm  boards,  but  in  its  place,  at  the  bidding  of  Don 
Gil,  had  arisen  a  new  and  more  modern  erection, 
whose  only  material  was  mahogany.  Pilotijos, 
escaleras,  ligazones,  verandas,  techos,  all  were  hewn 
and  formed  of  the  fine  red  mahogany.  The  boards 
were  unpolished,  it  is  true,  but  dark  and  rich  in 
tone.  They  made  a  cool  interior,  where,  coming 
from  the  white  glare  outside,  body  and  eye  alike 
were  at  once  at  rest.  The  covering  of  the  techos 

39 


SAN  ISIDRO 

was  the  glazed  tile  of  Italy.  Perhaps  one  should 
speak  of  the  roofs  as  tejados,  as  they  were  covered 
with  tiles.  This  tiling  proved  a  beacon  by  day,  as  it 
glittered  in  the  blazing  light  of  the  sun  of  the  tropics. 

Agueda  guided  her  horse  up  the  path  between 
the  two  dead  palm  trees,  and  rapped  with  the  stock 
of  her  whip  upon  the  counting-house  door,  which 
stood  partly  open. 

"Entra, "  was  the  reply.      She  rapped  again. 

"It  is  I  who  cannot  enter,  Sefior, "  she  called  in 
her  clear,  young  voice.  "I  have  not  the  time  to 
dismount." 

An  inner  door  was  opened  and  closed.  A  fine- 
looking  young  fellow  stepped  across  the  intervening 
space  and  appeared  upon  the  threshold  of  the  outer 
door.  He  raised  his  brows;  he  did  not  know 
Agueda.  Don  Beltran  made  various  pretexts  for 
her  absence  when  he  had  visitors. 

Agueda  held  out  the  note.  It  was  crumpled  and 
dusty  from  being  held  in  her  hand. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said;  "the  day  is  hot,  and  my 
Castafio  is  not  quiet." 

Don  Gil  gazed  with  interest  at  the  boyish-looking 
figure  riding  astride  the  little  chestnut.  "What  a 
handsome  lad  she  would  make!"  he  thought. 
"And  you  are  from — " 

"It  makes  no  difference  for  me.  I  bring  a  mes 
sage." 

4o 


SAN   ISIDRO 

Silencio  took  the  note  which  she  reached  out  to  him. 

"You  will  dismount  and  let  me  send  for  some 
fruit,  some  coffee?" 

"I  thank  you,  Sefior,  I  must  hasten;  I  am  going 
to  El  Cuco." 

"That  is  not  so  far,"  said  Don  Gil,  smiling. 

"No,  but  I  then  have  to  ride  a  long  way  back 
to — " 

"To—?" 

"To  San  Isidro." 

"The  Senorita  takes  roundabout  ways.  Is  she 
then  carrying  messages  all  about  the  country?" 

"Oh,  no,  Sefior,"  said  Agueda,  smiling  frankly. 
"When  I  go  back  to  San  Isidro  I  go  to  my  home. 
I  live  there." 

"Ah!"  What  was  there  imperceptible  in  Don 
Gil's  tone?  "You  live  there?  Is  the  Senorita  per 
haps  the  niece  of  the  manager,  Sefior  Adan?" 

"Si,  Senor, "  answered  Agueda,  flushing  hotly, 
she  knew  not  why. 

She  wheeled  Castafio  and  paced  down  between 
the  palm  trees. 

"And  you  will  not  take  pity  on  my  loneliness?" 

Don  Gil  was  still  smiling,  but  there  was  some 
thing  new,  something  of  familiarity,  it  seemed  to 
Agueda,  in  his  tone. 

"I  cannot  stop,  Sefior.  A  Dios!"  she  said, 
gravely. 

41 


SAN  ISIDRO 

As  Agueda  rode  out  of  the  enclosure  the  day 
seemed  changed.  Why  was  it?  She  had  been  so 
happy  before  she  had  delivered  the  note!  Now  she 
felt  sad,  depressed.  The  sun  was  still  shining, 
though  there  were  occasional  showers  of  rain,  and 
the  birds  were  still  singing.  Nothing  in  nature  had 
changed.  Ah,  stay!  There  was  a  cloud  over 
there,  hanging  low  down  above  the  sea.  It  was 
coming  to  the  westward,  she  thought.  She  hoped 
that  it  would  come,  and  quickly.  She  hoped  that  it 
would  burst  in  rain  upon  her,  and  make  her  ride 
for  it,  and  struggle  with  it.  Anything  to  drive 
away  that  unhappy  impression. 

Had  Silencio  been  asked  what  he  had  said  or 
done  to  cause  this  young  girl  to  change  suddenly 
from  a  thoughtless,  happy  creature  to  one  who  felt 
that  she  had  reason  for  uneasiness,  he  could  not 
have  told..  He  had  heard  vague  rumours  of  the  girl, 
Adan's  niece,  who  lived  over  at  San  Isidro.  But 
that  he  had  allowed  any  such  impression  to  escape 
him  in  intonation  or  gesture  he  was  quite  unaware. 
At  all  events,  he  was  entirely  oblivious  of  Agueda 
the  moment  that  she  had  ridden  away,  for  he 
opened  the  little  blue  note  that  she  had  brought, 
and  was  lost  in  its  contents. 


Ill 

When  Agueda  left  the  Casa  de  Caboa  she  turned 
down  the  trocha  towards  the  sea.  Although  the  sea 
was  not  far  from  San  Isidro  as  the  crow  flies,  the 
dwellers  at  the  hacienda  rarely  went  there.  In  the 
first  place,  there  was  the  river  to  cross,  and  then 
the  wood  beyond  the  river  was  filled  with  a  thick, 
short  growth  of  prickly  pear.  This  sort  of  under 
brush  was  unpleasant  to  pull  through.  Don  Belt- 
ran  had  tried  to  buy  it  from  Escobeda  up  at  Troja, 
but  Escobeda  seemed  to  have  been  born  to  annoy 
the  human  race  in  general,  and  Don  Beltran  and 
Silencio  in  particular.  He  would  not  sell,  and  he 
would  not  cultivate,  so  that  the  sea  meadow,  as 
they  called  it  at  San  Isidro,  was  an  eyesore  and  a 
cause  of  heart-burning  to  Don  Beltran. 

Agueda  chirruped  to  her  horse,  and  was  soon 
skirting  the  plantation  of  Palmacristi.  The  chest 
nut  was  a  pacer,  and  Agueda  liked  his  single  foot, 
and  kept  him  down  to  it  at  all  hazards. 

She  felt  as  if  she  were  in  Nada's  American  chair, 
the  motion  was  so  easy  and  pleasant.  The  beach 
was  rather  a  new  experience  to  the  chestnut,  but 

43 


SAN  ISIDRO 

after  a  little  moment  of  hesitancy  he  started  on  with 
a  nod  of  the  head. 

"Ah!"  said  Agueda,  with  a  laugh,  "it  is  you, 
Castano,  who  know  that  I  never  lead  you  wrong." 

She  shook  the  bridle,  and  the  horse  put  forth  his 
best  powers.  They  took  the  wet  sand  just  where 
the  water  had  retreated  but  a  little  while  before. 
It  was  as  hard  and  firm  as  the  country  road,  but 
moist  and  cool. 

"How  I  should  like  to  plunge  into  that  sea,"  said 
Agueda  to  Castano.  Castano  again  nodded  an 
acquiescent  head.  A  salt-water  bath  was  a  novelty 
to  these  comrades. 

After  a  few  moments  of  pacing,  Agueda  came  to 
the  sand  spit  which  ran  out  from  the  plantation 
into  the  sea.  Here  was  the  boat-house  which  Don 
Gil  had  built,  and  Agueda  noticed  that  it  was  placed 
upon  a  high  point,  with  ways  leading  down  on 
either  side  into  the  water.  She  looked  wistfully  at 
the  boat-house.  "How  I  should  love  to  sail  upon 
that  sea,"  thought  Agueda.  "No  water,  however 
high,  could  frighten  me."  Then  she  recalled  with 
a  flash  the  flood  which  had  brought  her  happiness. 
She  smiled  faintly,  for  with  the  thought  the  un 
pleasant  feeling  which  Don  Gil's  words  had  called 
up  returned,  she  knew  not  why.  Agueda  was 
pacing  towards  the  south.  Upon  her  right  stood  up 
tall  and  high  the  asta  of  Palmacristi,  the  staff  from 

44 


SAN  ISIDRO 

which  hung  the  lantern  that,  she  had  heard,  sent 
forth  its  white  ray  each  night  to  warn  the  seafarers 
on  that  lonely  coast. 

"What  harm  for  a  ship  to  run  on  the  sand," 
thought  Agueda.  "I  have  heard  that  rocks  are 
cruel.  But  the  sand  is  soft.  It  need  hurt  no  one." 

She  struck  spurs  to  Castano,  and  covered  several 
miles  before  she  again  drew  rein.  And  now  the 
bank  grew  high,  and  Agueda  awoke  to  the  fact  that 
she  was  alone  upon  the  beach,  screened  from 
the  eyes  of  every  one.  Again  the  thought  came 
to  her  of  a  bath  in  the  sea,  and  she  was  about  to 
rein  the  chestnut  in  when  she  heard  a  shout  from 
the  plateau  above  her  head.  She  stopped,  and 
tipping  back  her  straw  hat,  she  looked  upward. 
All  that  she  could  discover  was  a  mass  of  flowers  in 
motion.  "They  are  the  air-plants,  certainly,"  said 
Agueda  to  herself,  "but  I  never  saw  them  to  grow 
like  that."  She  looked  to  right  and  to  left,  but 
there  was  no  human  being  in  sight  along  the  yellow 
bank  outlined  by  sand  and  overhanging  weeds. 

"Who  calls  me?"  she  cried  aloud,  holding  her 
hair  from  her  ears,  where  the  wind  persisted  in 
blowing  it. 

"Caramba,  muchacho!  Can  you  not  see  who  it 
is?  It  is  I,  Gremo." 

There  was  a  violent  agitation  of  the  mass  of 
blooms,  and  Agueda  now  perceived  that  a  head 

45 


SAN  ISIDEO 

was  shaking  out  its  words  from  the  centre  of  this 
woodland  extravaganza. 

"I  can  hardly  see  you,  Gremo,"  said  Agueda. 
"What  do  you  want  with  me,  Gremo?" 

"And  must  I  make  brains  for  every  muchacho* 
between  here  and  the  Port  of  Entry?  Do  you  not 
know  there  are  the  quicksands  just  beyond?" 

"Quicksands,  Gremo!  Yes,  I  had  heard  of 
quicksands,  but  I  did  not  think  them  here.  Can  I 
get  up  the  bank,  Gremo?" 

"No,"  answered  Gremo,  from  his  flower  screen. 
"You  must  ride  back  a  long  way."  He  wheeled 
suddenly  toward  the  south — at  least,  the  mass  of 
flowers  wheeled,  and  a  hand  was  stretched  forth 
from  the  centre.  A  finger  pointed  along  the  sand. 
Agueda  turned  in  the  saddle  and  shaded  her  eyes 
again. 

"What  is  it,  Gremo?"  she  asked.  "I  see  noth- 
ing." 

"Then  you  do  not  see  that  small  thing  over  which 
the  vultures  hover?" 

"I  see  the  vultures,  certainly,"  said  Agueda. 
"Some  bit  of  fish,  perhaps." 

"No  bit  of  fish  or  fowl,  but  foul  flesh,  if  you 
will,  hombre.  It  is  the  hand  of  a  Senor,  mu 
chacho." 

"The  hand  of  a  Senor?     And  what  is  the  hand 

*Lad. 

46 


SAN  ISIDRO 

of    a     Senor    doing,     lying    along     there    on    the 
shore  ?' ' 

"It  lies  there  because  it  cannot  get  loose. 
Caramba,  muchacho!  Do  I  not  know?" 

"Cannot  get  loose  from  what?"  asked  Agueda, 
still  puzzled. 

"From  the  Senor  himself,  muchachito.  He  lies 
below  there,  and  his  good  horse  with  him.  Do  you 
not  see  a  hoof  just  over  beyond  where  the  big  bird 
lights?" 

Agueda  turned  pale.  She  had  never  been  near 
such  death  before.  Nada  had  passed  peacefully 
away  with  the  sacred  wafer  upon  her  lips,  and  in 
her  ears  the  good  padre's  words  of  forgiveness  for 
all  her  sins,  of  which  Agueda  was  sure  she  had  com 
mitted  none.  Hers  was  a  sweet,  calm,  sad  death. 
One  thought  of  it  with  relief  and  hope,  but  this  was 
tragedy.  There,  along  the  beach,  beneath  the 
smiling  sand,  whose  grains  glistened  in  a  million, 
million  sparkles,  lay  the  bodies  of  horse  and  rider, 
overtaken  by  this  placid  sea. 

"I  suppose  he  was  a  stranger,"  said  Agueda. 
"There  was  no  one  to  warn  him."  Suddenly  she 
felt  faint.  A  strong  whiff  of  air  reached  her  from 
the  direction  of  the  birds.  She  turned  the  chestnut 
rapidly,  and  struck  the  spur  to  his  side. 

"Wait,  Gremo,  wait!"  she  cried,  "I  am  coming! 
Do  not  leave  me  here  alone."  The  chestnut  paced 

47 


SAN  ISIDRO 

as  never  horse  paced  before,  and  after  a  few  min 
utes  Agueda  found  a  little  cleft  in  the  bank  where 
a  stream  trickled  down.  Into  this  opening  she 
guided  Castano,  and  with  spur  and  whip  aided  him 
in  his  scramble  up  the  bank.  She  galloped  south 
ward  again,  and  neared  the  place  where  Gremo 
stood.  She  was  guided  by  the  mass  of  bloom. 
As  she  advanced  she  saw  the  blossoms  shaking,  but 
as  yet  perceived  nothing  human.  Tales  of  the  for 
est  suddenly  came  back  to  her.  Could  it  be  that 
this  was  a  woodland  spirit,  who  had  lured  her  here 
to  this  high  headland,  to  throw  her  over  the  cliff 
again  to  keep  company  with  the  dead  man  yonder 
and  the  birds  of  prey?  She  had  half  turned  her 
horse,  when  Gremo,  seeing  her  plan,  thrust  himself 
further  from  his  gorgeous  environment. 

"Ah!  It  is  the  little  Agueda!  Do  not  be  afraid, 
Agueda,  little  Senorita.  It  is  I,  Gremo." 

Agueda's  cheek  had  not  as  yet  regained  its  colour. 

"It  is  Gremo,  muchachito." 

"What  terrible  thing  is  that  down  there,  Gremo? 
And  to  see  you  looking  like  this  frightened  me!" 

It  was  a  curious  sight  which  met  Agueda's  eyes. 
Gremo,  the  little  yellow  keeper  of  Los  Santos  light, 
was  standing  not  far  from  his  signal  pole.  He  held 
a  staff  in  each  hand.  The  staves  were  crooked  and 
uneven.  They  were  covered  with  bark,  and 
scraggy  bits  of  moss  hung  from  them  here  and 

48 


SAN  ISIDRO 

there.  The  strange  thing  about  them  was  that  each 
blossomed  like  the  prophet's  rod.  At  the  top  of 
the  right-hand  staff  there  shot  out  a  splendid 
orange-coloured  flower,  with  velvety  oval-shaped 
leaves.  Near  the  top  of  the  left-hand  staff  was  a 
pale  pink  blossom,  large  also,  not  wilted,  as  plucked 
flowers  are  apt  to  be,  but  firm  and  fresh.  But 
these  were  not  all  the  prophet's  rods  which  Gremo 
carried.  Across  his  back  was  slung  an  old  canvas 
stool,  opened  to  its  fullest  extent,  and  laid  length 
wise  across  this  were  many  more  ragged  staves,  and 
on  each  and  all  of  them  a  flower  of  some  shade  or 
colour  bloomed.  Then  there  were  branches  held 
under  his  arms,  whose  protruding  ends  blossomed 
in  Agueda's  very  face,  and  quite  enclosed  the  yel 
low  countenance  of  Gremo.  The  glossy  green  of 
the  leaves  surrounding  each  bloom  so  concealed 
Gremo  that  he  was  lost  in  his  vari-coloured  burden 
of  loveliness. 

"So  it  is  really  you,  Gremo!  Do  they  smell 
sweet,  those  air-plants?" 

Gremo  shifted  from  one  leg  to  the  other.  One  of 
Gremo 's  legs  was  shorter  than  the  other.  He  gen 
erally  settled  down  on  the  short  one  to  argue. 
When  he  was  indignant  he  raised  himself  upon  his 
long  leg  and  hurled  defiance  from  the  elevation. 

The  mass  of  bloom  seemed  to  exhale  a  delicate 
aroma.  So  evanescent  was  it  that  Gremo  often 

49 


SAN  ISIDRO 

said  to  himself,  "Have  they  any  scent  after  all?" 
And  then,  in  a  moment,  a  breeze  blew  from  left  to 
right,  across  the  open  calix  of  each  delicate  flower, 
and  Gremo  said,  "How  sweet  they  are!" 

"I  sometimes  think  they  are  the  sweetest  things 
on  God's  earth,"  said  Gremo.  "That  is,  when  the 
Senorita  is  not  by,"  he  added,  remembering  that 
his  grandfather  had  brought  some  veneer  from  old 
Spain;  "and  then  again  I  ask  myself,  is  there  any 
perfume  at  all?" 

"Oh,  now  I  smell  it,  Gremo!"  said  Agueda, 
sniffing  up  her  straight  little  nose.  "Now  I  smell 
it!  It  is  delicious!" 

"It  is  better  than  the  perfume  down  below 
there,"  said  Gremo,  with  a  grimace.  Agueda 
turned  pale  again. 

"And  what  do  you  do  with  them,  Gremo?" 
asked  she. 

"I  take  them  to  the  Port  of  Entry,  Senorita. 
I  get  good  payment  there.  Sometimes  a  half-dol 
lar,  Mex.  They  stick  them  in  the  earth.  They 
last  a  long,  long  time." 

"Were  you  going  there  when  you  called  me 
from — from — down  there?" 

"Si,  Senorita.  I  was  walking  along  the  bank. 
I  had  just  come  from  my  casa" — Gremo  gestured 
backward  with  a  dignified  wave  of  the  hand — "when 
I  heard  El  Castano's  hoofs  on  the  hard  sand  there 

50 


SAN   ISIDRO 

below."  He  turned  and  looked  along  the  beach  to 
where  the  noisome  birds  hovered.  "I  was  too  late 
to  warn  the  Senor.  Had  I  been  here,  I  should 
even  have  laid  down  my  plants  and  have  run  to  the 
edge  of  the  cliff" — Gremo  jerked  his  head  towards 
the  humped-up  pit  of  sand — "and  called,  'Ola! 
Porque  hace  Usted  eso?  It  is  Gremo  who  has 
the  kind  heart,  muchacho.'  ' 

"I  am  not  a  boy,  Gremo,"  said  Agueda,  glan 
cing  down  at  her  riding  costume. 

"It  is  the  same  to  me,  Sefiorita, "  said  Gremo, 
who  in  common  with  his  fellows  had  but  one  gender 
of  speech. 

Agueda  was  looking  at  the  hand  which  thrust 
itself  out  from  the  sand  of  the  shore.  It  seemed 
as  if  the  fingers  beckoned.  She  shuddered. 

"They  should  put  up  a  sign,"  she  said,  quickly. 
"I  shall  tell  the  Senor  Don  Beltran.  He  will  put 
up  a  notice — a  warning." 

"Caramba,  hombre!  And  why  must  you  inter 
fere?  No  people  in  this  part  will  go  that  way. 
They  all  know  the  danger  as  well  as  the  birds.  I 
live  here  in  this  part.  Why  not  leave  it  to  me?" 

"But  will  you,  Gremo?" 

"What?  Put  up  the  sign?  I  most  certainly  shall, 
Senorita.  Some  day  when  I  have  not  the  air-plants 
to  gather,  or  the  lanterna  to  clean,  or  when  I  am 
not  down  with  the  calentura,  or  there  is  no  fair  at 

51 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Haldez,  or  no  cock-fight  at  Saltona.  The  Senorita 
does  not  know  how  long  I  have  thought  of  this — I, 
Gremo!  Why,  as  long  ago  as  when  the  Sefior  Don 
Gil  bought  the  sand  spit  I  had  the  board  prepared. 
That  is  now  going  on  four  years,  if  I  count  aright. 
I  told  the  Sefior  Don  Gil  that  I  would  get  a  board, 
and  I  have." 

'•He  thinks  it  there  now,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Agueda. 

"Well,  well!  He  may,  he  may,  our  Don  Gil! 
J  am  not  disputing  it,  Senorita.  I  am  only  wait 
ing  for  the  padre  to  come  and  put  the  letters  on  it." 

"Have  you  told  him,  Gremo?"  said  Agueda, 
bending  forward  anxiously. 

"Caramba,  Senorita!"  said  Gremo,  raising  up  on 
his  long  leg,  "where  do  you  suppose  I  am  to  find 
the  time  to  tell  the  padre?  If  I  should  take  a  half- 
day  from  my  work  when  I  am  at  San  Isidro,  and 
walk  over  to  the  bodega,  the  padre  might  be  away 
at  the  cock-fight  at  Saltona,  or  the  christening  at 
Haldez.  The  Don  Beltran  is  a  gentle  hombre,  but 
he  would  not  pay  me  for  half  a  day  when  I  did  not 
earn  it.  If  I  could  know  when  the  padre  was  at 
home,  I  would  go,  most  certainly." 

"You  must  have  seen  him  many  times  in  the  last 
three  years,"  said  Agueda. 

"I  will  not  deny  that  I  have  seen  the  padre," 
answered  Gremo,  rising  angrily  on  the  tips  of 

52  • 


SAN  ISIDRO 

his  knotted  brown  toes.  "But  would  you  have 
me  disturb  a  man  like  our  padre  when  he  was 
watching  the  shoemaker's  black  cock  from  Troja, 
to  see  if  his  spurs  were  as  long  as  the  spurs  of  the 
cock  of  Corndeau? — that  vagamundo!" 

Agueda  reined  Castano  round,  so  that  his  head 
pointed  in  the  general  direction  of  the  bodega,  as 
well  as  homeward. 

''I  can  tell  the  padre,  Gremo,"  she  said,  and 
then  added  with  determination,  "It  must  not  be 
left  another  day." 

Gremo  settled  down  upon  his  short  leg. 

"Now,  Sefiorita, "  he  said  argumentatively,  "do 
not  interfere.  It  is  I  that  have  this  matter  well 
within  my  grasp.  There  is  no  one  coming  this  way 
to-day — along  the  beach,  I  mean." 

"How  do  you  know,  Gremo?"  questioned 
Agueda. 

Gremo  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"It  is  not  likely,  muchacho.  Our  own  people 
never  come  that  way,  and  there  are  so  few  stran 
gers — not  three  in  as  many  years.  We  cannot  now 
help  the  Sefior  who  lies  there,  can  we,  Sefiorita?" 

"No,"  said  Agueda,  sadly;  "but  we  can  pre 
vent — " 

"Leave  it  to  me,  Senorita.  I  promise  that  I  will 
attend  to  it  to-morrow.  I — " 

"And  why  not  to-day?" 
53 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Because,  you  see,  muchacho,  I  must  take  the 
air-plants  to  the  Port  of  Entry.  I  am  on  my  way 
there  now.  I  but  stopped  to  warn  the  Sefiorita, 
and  I  pay  well  for  my  kindness.  Now  I  shall  not 
be  able  to  return  to-night.  As  the  Senorita  has 
detained  me  all  this  long  while,  will  she  be  so  good 
as  to  stop  at  my  casa  and  tell  Marianna  Romando 
to  come  over  and  light  the  lantern  on  the  signal- 
staff  at  an  early  hour?  This,  you  know,  is  my 
lighthouse,  little  'Gueda.  This  is  Los  Santos." 

"Have  I  come  as  far  as  Los  Santos  head?" 
asked  the  girl. 

Agueda  looked  upwards  at  the  place  where  the 
red  lantern  hung  against  the  staff. 

"How  can  a  woman  climb  up  there?"  she  said. 

"She  will  bring  the  ladder,  the  Marianna 
Romando,"  said  Gremo,  moving  a  step  onwards. 

"I  do  not  think  I  know  Marianna  Romando.  Is 
she  your  wife,  Gremo?" 

"Well,  so,  so,"  answered  Gremo.  "But  she 
will  do  very  well  to  light  the  lantern  all  the  same." 

Aguedo  sat  her  horse,  lost  in  thought.  When 
she  raised  her  eyes  nothing  was  to  be  seen  of 
Gremo.  An  ambulating  mass  of  bloom,  some  dis 
tance  along  on  the  top  of  the  sea  bank,  told  her  that 
he  was  well  on  his  way  toward  the  Port  of  Entry. 
This  was  the  best  way,  Gremo  considered,  to  put 
an  end  to  discussion. 

54 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Agueda  did  not  know  just  where  the  casa  of  the 
light-keeper  lay.  Seeing  that  a  well-worn  path 
entered  the  bushes  just  there,  she  turned  her 
horse's  head  and  pushed  into  the  tall  undergrowth. 
After  a  few  moments  she  came  out  upon  a  well- 
defined  footway.  Her  path  led  her  through  acres 
of  mompoja  trees,  whose  great  spreading  spatules 
shaded  her  from  the  scorching  sun.  She  had 
descended  a  little  below  the  hill,  and  once  out  of 
the  fresh  trade  breeze,  began  to  feel  the  heat.  She 
took  off  her  hat  as  she  rode,  and  fanned  herself. 
Five  or  six  minutes  of  Castano's  walking  brought 
her  to  a  hut ;  this  hut  was  placed  at  a  point  where 
three  paths  met.  It  stood  in  a  sort  of  hollow, 
where  the  moisture  from  the  late  rains  had  settled 
upon  the  clay  soil.  The  hut  was  thatched  with 
yagua.  It  was  so  small  that,  Agueda  argued,  there 
could  be  but  one  room.  There  was  a  stone  before 
the  doorway  sunk  deep  in  the  mud.  Before  the 
opening,  where  the  door  should  be,  hung  a  curtain 
of  bull's  hide.  A  long  ladder  stood  against  the 
house.  Its  topmost  rung  was  at  least  an  entire 
story  in  height  above  the  roof,  and  Agueda  won 
dered  why  it  was  needed  there.  The  only  signs  of 
life  about  the  place  were  three  or  four  withered 
hens,  which  ran  screaming,  with  wobbling  bodies 
and  thin  necks  stretched  forward,  at  the  approach 
of  the  stranger.  Their  screams  brought  a  yellow 

55 


SAN  ISIDRO 

woman  to  the  door.  If  Gremo  looked  like  a  with 
ered  apple,  this  was  his  feminine  counterpart.  Her 
one  garment  appeared  to  be  quite  out  of  place.  It 
seemed  as  if  there  could  be  nothing  improper  in 
such  a  creature  going  about  as  she  was  created. 
The  slits  in  the  faded  cotton  gown  were  more  sug 
gestive  than  utter  nakedness  would  have  been. 
This  person  nodded  at  the  chickens  where  they  were 
disappearing  in  the  bush. 

"They  are  as  good  as  any  watch-dog,"  said  she. 
"There  is  no  use  of  thieves  coming  here." 

Agueda  rode  close. 

"I  am  not  a  thief,"  said  Agueda.  "Can  you 
tell  me  where  is  the  casa  of  Gremo,  the  light- 
keeper?" 

"And  where  but  here  in  this  very  spot?"  said  the 
piece  of  parchment,  smiling  a  toothless  smile  and 
showing  a  fine  array  of  gums.  "But  had  you  said 
the  casa  of  Marianna  Romando,  you  would  have 
come  nearer  the  truth." 

Agueda  had  not  expected  the  casa  of  which 
Gremo  spoke  with  such  pride  to  look  like  this,  or 
to  belong  to  some  one  else. 

"Well,  then,  I  have  come  with  a  message  from 
your  hus — from  Gremo." 

"The  Senorita  will  get  off  her  horse  and  come  in? 
What  will  the  Senorita  have?  Some  bread,  an 
egg — a  little  ching-ching?" 

56 


SAN  ISIDRO 

. 

The  woman  smiled  pleasantly  all  the  time  that 
she  was  speaking.  Agueda  had  difficulty  in 
understanding  her,  for  the  entire  absence  of  teeth 
caused  her  lips  to  cling  together,  so  that  she  articu 
lated  with  difficulty.  Still  she  smiled.  Agueda 
shook  her  head  at  the  hospitable  words. 

''I  have  no  time,  gracias,  Sefiora.  You  will  see 
that  I  have  been  wet  with  the  showers, ' '  she  said ; 
"and  I  have  been  delayed  twice  already.  Gremo 
asked  me  to  tell  you  that  he  would  come  to  the 
Port  of  Entry  too  late  to  return  and  light  the  lan 
tern.  He  asks  that  you  will  do  it  for  him." 

For  answer  the  woman  hurriedly  pulled  aside  the 
bull's-hide  curtain  and  entered  the  hut.  She  reap 
peared  in  a  moment  with  an  old  straw  hat  on  her 
head.  She  was  lifting  up  her  skirt  as  she  came, 
and  tying  round  her  waist  a  petticoat  of  some  faded 
grey  stuff.  Her  face  had  changed.  She  smiled  no 
longer. 

"It  is  that  fat  wife  of  the  inn-keeper  at  the  sign 
of  the  'Navio  Mercante.'*  She  it  is  who  takes  my 
Gremo  from  me."  She  entered  the  hut  again, 
and  this  time  reappeared  with  a  coarse  pair  of 
native  shoes.  She  seated  herself  in  the  doorway, 
her  feet  on  the  damp  stone,  and  busily  began  to  put 
on  the  shoes,  her  tongue  keeping  her  fingers  in 
countenance. 

*  Merchant  ship. 

57 


SAN  ISIDRO 

^ 

"As  if  I  did  not  know  why  my  Gremo  goes  to 
the  Port  of  Entry!  He  will  sit  in  the  doorway  all 
the  day!  She  will  give  him  of  the  pink  rum!  He 
will  spend  all  the  pesos  he  has  made!  His  plants 
will  wither!  Oh,  yes,  it  is  that  fat  Posadera  who 
has  got  hold  of  my  Gremo." 

Agueda  turned  her  horse's  head. 

"How  do  I  go  on  from  here?"  she  asked. 

"Where  is  the  Senorita  going?" 

"To  San  Isidro,  but  first  to  El—" 

"Aaaamieee/"  said  the  woman,  standing  in  the 
now  laced  shoes,  arms  akimbo.  "So  this  is  Don 
Beltran's  little  lady?" 

Agueda  flushed. 

"I  live  with  my  uncle,  the  Senor  Adan,  at  San 
Isidro."  She  pushed  into  the  undergrowth. 

"The  Senora  is  going  wrong,"  said  the  woman. 

"Senorita,"  said  Agueda,  sharply,  correcting  the 
word.  "Which  way,  then?" 

Getting  no  answer,  she  turned  again.  She  now 
saw  that  the  woman  had  gone  to  the  side  of  the 
house  and  was  taking  the  long  ladder  from  its 
position  against  the  wall.  She  bent  her  back  and 
settled  it  upon  her  shoulders.  Agueda  looked  on 
in  astonishment  while  this  frail  creature  fitted  her 
back  to  so  awkward  a  burden.  Marianna  Romando 
looked  up  sidewise  from  under  the  rungs. 

"I  go  to  light  the  sefiale  now,"  she  said.  "It 
58 


SAN  ISIDRO 

may  burn  all  day,  for  me.  What  cares  Marianna 
Romando?  Government  must  pay.  Then,  when 
it  is  lighted  I  shall  hide  the  ladder  among  the  mom- 
poja  trees.  He  did  not  dare  to  tell  me  that  he 
would  remain  away.  He  knows  that  I  do  not  like 
that  fat  wife  of  the  inn-keeper.  I  shall  lead  him 
home  by  the  ear  at  about  four  o'clock  of  the  morn 
ing.  There  are  ghosts  in  the  mompoja  patch,  but 
they  will  not  appear  to  two." 

All  through  this  discourse  Marianna  Romando 
had  not  raised  her  voice.  She  smiled  as  if  she  con 
sidered  the  weaknesses  of  Gremo  amiable  ones. 
She  started  after  him  as  a  mother  would  go  in 
search  of  a  straying  child ;  like  a  guardian  who 
would  protect  a  weak  brother  from  himself. 

"I  have  only  this  to  say  to  you,  Senorita, "  she 
called  after  Agueda,  turning  so  that  the  ladder 
swished  through  the  low  bushes,  cutting  off  some 
of  the  tops  of  the  tall  weeds,  both  before  and 
behind  her.  "Keep  the  Senor  well  in  hand.  When 
they  go  away  like  that,  no  one  knows  whom  they 
may  be  going  after." 

Agueda  closed  her  ears.  She  did  not  wish  to 
hear  that  which  her  senses  had  perforce  caught. 
She  pushed  along  the  path  that  Marianna  Romando 
had  indicated,  and  in  twenty  minutes  saw  the  white 
palings  of  Don  Mateo's  little  plantation,  El  Cuco. 


59 


IV 

When  Raquel  had  given  Agueda  the  note  and  the 
kiss,  and  had  seen  her  ride  rapidly  away,  she  closed 
the  shutter.  She  made  the  room  as  dark  as  pos 
sible.  She  could  not  bear  to  have  the  sun  shine  on 
a  girl  who  had  written  to  a  man  to  come  to  her  suc 
cour.  It  could  mean  nothing  less  than  marriage, 
and  it  was  as  if  she  had  offered  it.  But  what  else 
remained  for  her  but  to  appeal  to  Don  Gil?  If  the 
few  words  that  he  had  spoken  meant  anything, 
they  meant  love.  If  the  beating  of  her  heart,  when 
she  caught  ever  so  distant  a  glimpse  of  him,  meant 
anything,  it  meant  love.  She  had  received  a  note 
from  him  only  a  week  back.  She  would  read  it 
again.  Her  uncle  had  searched  her  room  only  yes 
terday  for  letters,  and  she  was  thankful  that  she 
had  had  the  forethought  to  conceal  Silencio's  mis 
sive  where  he  would  not  discover  it.  He  had 
ordered  old  Ana  to  search  the  girl's  dresses,  and 
Ana,  with  moist  eyes  and  tender  words,  had  carried 
out  Escobeda's  instructions.  She  had  found  noth 
ing,  and  so  had  told  the  Senor  Escobeda. 

"And  when  does  the  child  get  a  chance  to 
60 


SAN  ISIDRO 

receive  notes  from  the  Senores?"  asked  Ana,  indig 
nant  that  her  charge  should  be  suspected.  It  was 
the  reflection  upon  herself,  also,  that  galled  her. 
"I  guarded  her  mother;  I  can  guard  her,  Senor, " 
said  the  old  woman,  with  dignity. 

"Do  you  not  know  that  the  young  of  our  nation 
are  fire  and  tow?"  snarled  Escobeda.  "I  shall  put 
it  out  of  her  power  to  deceive  me  longer." 

With  that  he  had  flung  out  of  the  casa  and  rid 
den  away.  It  was  then  that  Raquel  had  beckoned 
to  Agueda,  where  she  loitered  under  the  shelter  of 
the  coffee  bushes.  After  Agueda  had  gone, 
Raquel  seated  herself  upon  a  little  stool  which  had 
been  hers  from  childhood.  She  raised  one  foot  to 
her  knee,  took  the  heel  in  her  hand,  and  drew  off 
the  slipper.  Some  small  pegs  had  pressed  through 
and  had  made  little  indentations  in  the  tender  foot. 
But  between  the  pegs  and  the  stocking  was  a  thick 
piece  of  paper,  whose  folds  protected  the  skin.  She 
had  just  removed  it  when  the  door  opened,  and 
Ana  entered.  Raquel  started  and  seemed  con 
fused  for  a  moment. 

"You  frightened  me,  Ana,"  said  Raquel.  "I 
thought  that  you  had  gone  to  the  fair.  So  I  told — " 

"You  told?  And  whom  did  you  have  to  tell, 
Sefiorita?" 

"I  told  my  uncle.  He  was  here  but  now.  Oh! 
dear  Ana,  I  am  so  tired  of  this  hot  house.  I  long 

61 


SAN  ISIDRO 

for  the  woods.  When  do  you  think  that  he  will 
let  me  go  to  the  forest  again?" 

Ana  drew  the  girl  toward  her.    Her  lips  trembled. 

"I  am  as  sorry  as  you  can  be,  muchachita;  but 
what  can  I  do?  What  is  that  paper  that  you  hold 
in  your  hand,  Raquel?" 

Raquel  blushed  crimson.  Fortunately  Ana's 
eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  paper. 

"I  had  it  folded  in  my  shoe,"  said  Raquel.  She 
threw  the  paper  in  the  scrap  basket  as  she  spoke. 
"See,  Ana."  She  held  up  the  slipper.  "Look  at 
those  pegs!  They  have  pushed  through,  and  my 
heel  is  really  lame.  I  can  hardly  walk."  Raquel 
limped  round  the  room  to  show  Ana  what  suffering 
was  hers,  keeping  her  back  always  to  the  scrap-bas 
ket.  "If  he  would  allow  me  to  go  to  the  town  and 
buy  some  shoes!"  said  Raquel — Ana's  espionage 
having  created  the  deceit  whose  prophylactic  she 
would  be. 

"You  had  better  put  on  your  slipper,  said  the 
prudent  Ana.  "You  will  wear  out  your  stockings 
else." 

"But  how  can  I  put  on  my  slipper  with  those 
pegs  in  the  heel?"  asked  Raquel. 

"You  had  the  paper." 

"It  was  punched  full  of  holes." 

"Let  me  see  it,"  said  Ana. 

"I  threw  it  away,"  said  Raquel.  "Get  me 
62 


SAN  ISIDRO 

another  piece  of  paper,  for  the  love  of  God,  dear 
Ana.  My  uncle  does  not  allow  me  even  a  journal. 
I  am  indeed  in  prison." 

Ana  arose. 

"I  will  take  the  scrap-basket  with  me,"  she  said. 

"Not  until  you  have  brought  the  paper,  Ana. 
I  shall  tear  up  some  other  pieces." 

When  Ana  had  closed  the  door  Raquel  pounced 
upon  the  waste-basket.  She  took  the  folded  paper 
from  the  top  of  the  few  scraps  lying  there.  This 
she  opened,  pulling  it  apart  with  difficulty,  for  the 
pegs  had  punched  the  layers  together,  as  if  they 
had  been  sewn  with  a  needle.  She  spread  the 
paper  upon  her  knee,  but  first  ran  to  the  door  and 
called,  "Ana,  bring  a  piece  of  the  cottonwool,  also, 
I  beg  of  you." 

"That  will  keep  her  longer,"  said  Raquel,  smil 
ing.  She  spoke  aloud  as  lonely  creatures  often  do. 
"She  must  hunt  for  that,  I  know."  She  heard 
Ana  pulling  out  bureau  drawers,  and  sat  down  again 
to  read  her  letter. 

"Dearest  Senorita,"  it  ran.  "I  hear  that  you 
are  unhappy.  What  can  I  do?  I  hear  that  you 
are  going  away.  Do  not  go,  for  the  love  of  God, 
without  letting  me  know. 

"Your  faithful  servant,          G." 

"I  have  let  you  know,  Gil,"  she  said.  "I  am 
not  going  away,  but  I  am  unhappy.  I  am  a  pris- 

63 


SAN  ISIDRO 

oner.  I  wonder  if  you  will  save  me?"  Ana's 
heavy  tread  was  heard  along  the  corridor.  Raquel 
hastily  thrust  the  note  within  the  bosom  of  her 
dress.  When  the  cotton  had  been  adjusted  and 
the  slipper  replaced,  Ana  took  up  the  scrap-basket. 

"Dear  Ana,  stay  a  little  while.  I  am  so  lonely. 
Don't  you  think  he  would  let  me  sit  on  the 
veranda?" 

"He  would  let  you  go  anywhere  if  you  would 
promise  not  to  speak  to  the  Sefior  Silencio,"  said 
Ana. 

"I  will  never  promise  that,  Ana,"  said  Raquel, 
with  a  compression  of  the  lips. 

She  laid  her  head  down  on  Ana's  shoulder. 

"I  am  so  lonely,"  she  said.  The  tears  welled 
over  from  the  childish  eyes.  The  lips  quivered.  "I 
wonder  how  it  feels,  Ana,  to  have  a  mother. ' '  Ana's 
eyes  were  moist,  too,  but  she  repressed  any  show 
of  feeling.  Had  not  the  Sefior  Escobeda  ordered 
her  to  do  so,  and  was  not  his  will  her  daily  rule? 

Suddenly  Raquel  started — her  hearing  made  sen 
sitive  by  fear. 

"I  hear  him  coming,  Ana,"  she  said. 

"You  could  not  hear  him,  sweet;  he  has  gone 
over  to  see  the  Sefior  Anecito  Rojas. " 

"That  -dreadful  man!"  Raquel  shuddered. 
"Why  does  he  wish  to  see  the  Sefior  Anecito 
Rojas?" 

64 


SAN   ISIDRO 

"I  do  not  know,  Senorita."  Ana  shook  her 
head  pitifully.  It  seemed  as  if  she  might  tell  some 
thing  if  she  would. 

Suddenly  she  strained  her  arms  round  the  girl. 

"Raquel!  Raquel!"  she  said,  "promise  me  that 
you  will  sometimes  think  of  me.  That  you  will 
love  me  if  we  are  separated.  That  if  you  can,  if 
you  have  the  power,  you  will  send  for  me — " 

"Ana!  Ana!"  Raquel  had  risen  to  her  feet  and 
was  crying.  Her  face  was  white,  her  lips  bloodless. 
"Tell  me  what  you  mean.  How  can  I  send  for 
you?  Where  am  I  going  that  I  can  send  for  you? 
Am  I  going  away,  Ana?  Ana,  what  do  you  know? 
Tell  me,  Ana,  dear — dear  Ana,  tell  me!" 

But  Ana  had  no  time  or  reason  to  answer.  There 
was  a  sound  of  horse's  hoofs  before  the  door,  a 
man's  heavy  foot  alighting  upon  the  veranda,  the 
throwing  wide  of  the  outer  door,  and  Escobeda's 
voice  within  the  passage. 

"Ana!"  it  shouted,  "Ana!" 

Ana  arose  trembling.  "I  am  here,  Senor, "  she 
said. 

"Where  is  that  girl,  Raquel?" 

"The  Senorita  is  also  here,  Senor,"  answered 
Ana. 

The  door  was  flung  open. 

"Pack  her  duds,"  said  Escobeda.  "She  leaves 
this  by  evening." 

65 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"/ — leave — here?"  Raquel  had  arisen,  and  was 
standing  supporting  herself  by  Ana's  shoulder. 

"I  suppose  you  understand  your  mother  tongue. 
It  is  as  I  said ;  you  leave  here  this  evening. ' ' 

"Oh,  uncle!     Where — where  am  I  to  go?" 

"That  you  will  find  out  later.  Pack  her  duds, 
Ana." 

Ana  trembled  in  every  limb.  She  arose  to 
obey.  Raquel  threw  herself  on  the  bare  floor  at 
Escobeda's  feet. 

"Oh,  uncle!"  she  said.  "What  have  I  done  to 
be  sent  away?  Will  you  not  tell  me  where  I  am 
going?" 

The  girl  cried  in  terror.  She  wept  as  a  little 
child  weeps,  without  restraint.  "I  am  so  young, 
uncle.  I  have  no  home  but  this.  Do  not  send  me 
away!" 

Escobeda  looked  down  at  the  childish  figure  on 
the  ground  before  him,  but  not  a  ray  of  pity  entered 
his  soul,  for  between  Raquel's  face  and  his  he  saw 
that  of  Silencio,  whose  father  had  been  his  father's 
enemy  as  well  as  his  own.  He  felt  sure  that  soon 
or  late  Silencio  would  have  the  girl.  He  spoke 
his  thoughts  aloud. 

"I  suppose  he  would  even  marry  you  to  spite 
me,"  he  said. 

"Who,  uncle?     Of  whom  do  you  speak?" 

"You  know  well  enough;  but  I  shall  spoil  his 
66 


SAN  ISIDRO 

game.  Get  her  ready,  Ana;  we  start  this  after 
noon." 

"There  is  a  knocking  at  the  outer  door,"  said 
Ana.  "I  will  go — " 

"You  will  pack  her  duds,"  said  Escobeda,  who 
was  not  quite  sure  of  Ana.  "I  will  answer  the 
summons  myself." 

As  he  was  passing  through  the  doorway,  Raquel 
said,  despairingly: 

"Uncle,  wait  a  moment.  You  went  to  the  Senor 
Anecito  Rojas.  How  did  you  get  back  so  soon — " 

"And  who  told  you  that  I  was  going  to  him? 
Yes,  I  did  start  for  the  house  of  Rojas,  but  I  met 
him  on  the  way,  so  I  was  saved  the  trouble." 

"Are  you  going  to  send  me  to  him,  uncle?" 
asked  Raquel.  The  girl's  face  had  again  become 
white,  her  eyes  were  staring.  There  was  some 
unknown  horror  in  store.  What  could  it  be? 

"Send  you  to  him?  Oh,  no!  Why  should  I 
send  you  to  him?  I  have  a  better  market  for  you 
than  that  of  Rojas.  He  is  only  coming  to  aid  me 
with  those  trusty  men  of  his,  in  case  your  friend 
Silencio  should  attempt  to  take  you  from  me.  He 
had  better  not  attempt  it.  A  stray  shot  will  dis 
pose  of  him  very  quickly." 

"Am  I  to  remain  on  the  island,  uncle?" 

"Yes  and  no,"  answered  Escobeda.  "We  take 
the  boat  to-night  for  the  government  town.  When 

67 


SAN  ISIDRO 

we  arrive,  it  will  be  as  the  governor  says— he  must 
see  you  first." 

Raquel  understood  nothing  of  his  allusions.  Ana 
cried  silently  as  she  took  Raquel's  clothes  from  the 
drawers  and  folded  them. 

"I  cannot  see  what  the  governor  has  to  do  with 
me?"  said  Raquel. 

"You  will  know  soon  enough,"  said  Escobeda. 
His  laugh  was  cruel  and  sneering. 

Raquel  turned  from  Escobeda  with  an  increased 
feeling  of  that  revulsion  which  she  had  never  been 
able  entirely  to  control.  She  had  felt  as  if  it  were 
wrong  not  to  care  for  her  uncle,  but  even  had  he 
been  uniformly  kind,  his  appearance  was  decidedly 
not  in  his  favour.  She  glanced  at  his  low,  squat 
figure,  bowed  legs,  and  thick  hands.  She  had  time 
to  wonder  why  he  always  wore  earrings — some 
thing  which  now  struck  her  as  more  grotesque  than 
formerly.  Then  she  thrust  her  hand  within  the 
bosom  of  her  gown,  raised  it  quickly,  and  slipped 
something  within  her  mouth. 

Escobeda  caught  the  motion  of  Raquel's  arm  as 
he  raised  his  eyes.  She  backed  toward  the  wall. 
He  advanced  toward  her  threateningly.  He  seized 
her  small  shoulder  with  one  hand,  and  with  a  quick, 
rough  motion  he  thrust  the  thick  forefinger  of  the 
other  between  her  lips,  and  ran  it  round  inside  her 
mouth,  as  a  mother  does  in  seeking  a  button  or 

68 


SAN  ISIDRO 

some  foreign  substance  by  which  a  child  might  be 
endangered.  Raquel  endeavoured  to  swallow  the 
paper.  At  first  she  held  her  teeth  close  together, 
but  the  strength  of  Escobeda's  finger  was  equal  to 
the  whole  force  of  her  little  body,  and  after  a  mo 
ment's  struggle  Silencio's  note  was  brought  to 
light.  He  tried  to  open  it. 

"It  is  pulp!  Nothing  but  pulp!"  he  said,  shak 
ing  the  empty  hand  at  her.  Raquel  stood  outraged 
and  pale.  What  was  the  matter  with  this  man? 
He  had  suddenly  shown  himself  in  a  new  light. 

''How  dare  you  treat  me  so?"  she  gasped. 

"You  have  hurt  her,  Sefior,"  said  Ana,  reproach 
fully.  "Does  it  pain  you,  sweet?"  Ana  had  run 
to  the  girl,  and  was  wiping  her  lips  with  a  soft  hand 
kerchief.  A  tiny  speck  of  blood  showed  how  less 
than  tender  had  been  this  rough  man's  touch. 

"If  it  pains  me?  Yes,  all  over  my  whole  body. 
How  dare  he!  Anita,  how  dare  he!" 

Escobeda  laughed.  He  seated  his  thick  form  in 
the  wicker  chair,  which  was  Raquel' s  own.  It  trem 
bled  with  his  weight.  He  laid  the  paper  carefully 
upon  his  knee,  and  tried  to  smooth  it. 

"I  thought  you  said  she  received  no  notes  from 
gentlemen,"  he  roared.  Ana  stood  red-eyed  and 
pale. 

"She  never  does,  Sefior,"  she  answered,  stifling 
her  sobs. 

69 


SAN  ISIDEO 

"And  what  is  that?"  asked  Escobeda,  in  a  grat 
ing  voice.  He  slapped  the  paper  with  the  back  of 
his  hand  into  the  very  face  of  Ana.  "Do  you 
think  that  I  cannot  read  my  enemy's  hand — aye, 
and  his  meaning?  Even  were  it  written  in  invisible 
ink.  ' Gil!'  Do  you  see  it?  'Gil!'  '  He  slapped 
the  paper  again,  still  thrusting  it  under  Ana's  nose. 

"There  may  be  more  than  one  Gil  in  the  world, 
Sefior,"  sniffed  the  shaking  Ana. 

"Do  not  try  to  prevaricate,  Ana.  You  know 
there  is  not  more  than  one  Gil  in  the  world,"  said 
Raquel,  scornfully. 

Ana,  in  danger  from  the  second  horn  of  her 
dilemma,  stood  convicted  of  both,  and  gasped. 

"There  is  only  one  Gil  in  the  world  for  me. 
That  is  Don  Gil  Silencio-y- Estrada.  That  is  his 
note  which  you  hold,  uncle.  It  is  a  love  letter.  I 
have  answered  it  this  very  day." 

Raquel,  now  that  the  flood  of  her  speech  had 
started  to  flow,  said  all  that  she  could  imagine  or 
devise.  She  said  that  which  had  no  foundation  in 
fact.  She  made  statements  which,  had  Silencio 
heard  them,  would  have  lifted  him  to  the  seventh 
heaven  of  bliss. 

"He  wants  me  to  go  away  with  him.  He  knows 
that  I  am  imprisoned.  He  implores  me  to  come 
to  him.  Be  sure,"  said  Raquel,  her  eyes  flashing, 
"that  the  opportunity  is  all  that  I  need." 

70 


SAN  ISIDEO 

Ana  stood  aghast.  She  had  never  seen  Escobeda 
defied  before.  All  the  countryside  feared  to  anger 
him.  What  would  become  of  the  two  helpless 
women  who  had  been  so  unfortunate? 

Escobeda  was  livid.  His  eyes  rolled  with  rage; 
they  seemed  to  turn  red.  He  arose  from  the  chair, 
leaving  it  creaking  in  every  straw.  He  clenched 
his  fist,  and  shook  it  at  the  woman  and  girl  alter 
nately.  His  ear-rings  danced  and  trembled.  He 
seemed  to  be  seized  with  a  stuttering  fit.  The 
words  would  not  pass  the  barrier  of  his  brown  teeth. 
He  jerked  and  stammered. 

"We  —  we  —  shall  see.  We  shall  s  —  s  —  see. 
This  —  this  —  eve  —  evening. 

Raquel,  her  short  spurt  of  courage  fled,  now 
stood  with  drooped  head.  Escobeda's  anger  seemed 
to  have  left  him  as  suddenly  as  it  had  appeared. 
He  threw  Silencio's  note  on  the  floor. 

"Ah!  bah!"  he  said,  contemptuously.  "It 
sounds  very  fine.  It  is  like  hare  soup:  first  catch 
your  hare.  Silencio  shall  not  catch  you,  my  little 
hare.  His  horses  are  not  fleet  enough,  nor  his  arm 
long  enough." 

"All  the  same,  I  think  that  he  will  catch  me,"  said 
Raquel,  again  defiant,  with  a  fresh  burst  of  courage. 

Escobeda  turned  on  his  heel. 

"Go  to  the  door,  Ana,"  he  said,  "and  see  who 
keeps  up  that  thumping." 

71 


SAN  ISIDRO 

When  Ana  had  shuffled  along  the  passage, 
Raquel  turned  to  Escobeda.  "It  may  be  a  mes 
senger  from  the  Sefior  Silencio, "  she  said.  "I  sent 
him  a  letter  some  hours  ago." 

"And  by  whom,  pray?" 

"That  I  will  not  tell. you.  I  do  not  betray  those 
who  are  kind  to  me.  You  told  me  early  this  morn 
ing  that  I  was  to  be  taken  away.  You  will  see 
now  that  I,  too,  have  a  friend." 

Ana's  steps  interrupted  this  conversation. 

"Well?"  asked  Escobeda.  "The  messenger  is — 
will  you  speak?" 

"It  is  the  man  Rotiro  from  Palmacristi, "  said 
Ana,  in  a  low  voice. 

Raquel  gave  a  quick  little  draw  of  her  breath 
inward.  The  sound  made  a  joyous  note  in  that 
cruel  atmosphere. 

"It  will  do  you  no  good,"  said  Escobeda.  "Go 
and  tell  him  that  I  will  see  him  presently.  I  will 
lock  you  up,  my  pretty  Senorita,  that  you  send  no 
more  notes  to  that  truhan.*  You  have  now  but  a 
few  hours  to  make  ready.  Put  in  all  your  finery; 
though,  after  all,  your  new  master  can  give  you 
what  he  will,  if  you  please  him." 

*Mountebank. 


72 


It  was  an  unthrifty-looking  place,  El  Cuco — very 
small,  as  its  name  implied.  How  Don  Mateo  had 
asked  any  woman  to  marry  him  with  no  more  to 
give  her  than  the  small  plantation  of  El  Cuco,  one 
could  not  imagine.  The  place  was  little  more  than 
a  conuco,  and  Don  Mateo,  through  careless  ways 
and  losses  at  gambling,  selling  a  little  strip  of  field 
here  and  some  forest  land  there,  was  gradually 
reducing  the  property  to  the  size  of  a  native  hold 
ing. 

The  lady  who  had  inveigled  Don  Mateo  into 
marrying  her  sat  upon  the  veranda,  fat  and  hearty. 
Her  eyes  were  beginning  to  open  to  the  fact  that 
Don  Mateo  had  not  been  quite  candid  with  her. 
He  had  said,  "My  house  is  not  very  fine,  Senorita, 
but  I  have  land ;  and  if  you  will  come  there  as  my 
.wife,  we  will  begin  to  build  a  new  casa  as  soon  as 
the  crops  are  in  and  paid  for."  The  crops  had 
never  come  in,  as  far  as  the  Senora  had  discovered; 
and  how  could  crops  be  paid  for  before  they  were 
gathered?  There  had  grown  up  within  the  house 
hold  a  very  fine  crop  of  complaints,  but  these  Don 

73 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Mateo  smoothed  over  with  his  ready  excuses  and 
kindliness  of  manner. 

Agueda  leaned  down  to  the  small  footpath  gate 
to  unfasten  the  latch.  She  found  that  the  gate  was 
standing  a  little  way  open  and  sunk  in  the  mud, 
but  that  there  was  no  room  to  pass  through. 

"Go  round  to  the  other  side,"  called  a  voice  from 
the  veranda. 

A  half-dozen  little  children,  of  all  shades,  came 
trooping  down  the  path.  Then,  as  she  turned  to 
ride  round  the  dilapidated  palings,  they  scampered 
across  the  yard,  a  space  covered  by  some  sort  of 
wild  growth.  They  met  her  in  a  troop  at  the  large 
gate,  which  was  also  sunk  in  the  ground  through 
the  sagging  of  its  hinges.  Fortunately,  it  had 
stood  so  widely  open  now  for  some  years  that 
entrance  was  quite  feasible. 

Agueda  struck  spur  to  Castano's  side,  and  he 
trotted  round  to  the  veranda.  They  stopped  at 
the  front  steps,  and  throwing  her  foot  over  the  sad 
dle,  Agueda  prepared  to  dismount. 

"What  do  you  want  here?"  asked  a  fat  voice 
from  the  end  of  the  veranda. 

"I  should  like  to  see  Aneta,  Senora,"  said 
Agueda.  "May  one  of  the  peons  take  my 
horse?" 

"You  can  go  round  to  the  back,  where  Aneta  is, 
then,"  answered  the  Senora,  without  rising.  "She 

74 


SAN  ISIDRO 

is  washing  her  dishes,  and  it  is  not  you  who  shall 
disturb  her." 

Agueda  looked  up  with  astonishment.  The  last 
time  that  she  had  come  to  El  Cuco,  Aneta  had  sat 
on  the  veranda  in  the  very  place  where  the  stranger 
was  sitting  now.  That  chair,  Don  Mateo  had 
brought  over  from  Saltona  once  as  a  present  for 
Aneta.  It  was  an  American  chair,  and  Aneta  used 
to  sit  and  rock  in  it  by  the  hour  and  sing  some 
happy  song.  Agueda  remembered  how  Aneta  had 
twisted  some  red  and  yellow  ribbons  through  the 
wicker  work.  Those  ribbons  were  replaced  now 
by  blue  and  pink  ones. 

Without  a  word  Agueda  rode  round  the  house. 
Arrived  at  the  tumble-down  veranda  which  jutted 
put  from  the  servants'  quarters,  she  heard  sounds 
which,  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  Senora's 
words,  suggested  Aneta's  presence.  When  Aneta 
heard  the  sound  of  horse's  hoofs  she  came  to  the 
open  shutter.  Agueda  saw  that  her  eyes  were  red 
and  swollen.  A  faint  smile  of  welcome  overspread 
Aneta's  features,  which  was  succeeded  at  once  by 
a  shamefaced  look  that  Agueda  should  see  her  in 
this  menial  position. 

"Dear  Agueda!"  said  she;  "how  glad  I  am  to 
see  you!  But  this  is  no  place  for  you." 

"I  wish  that  you  could  come  down  to  the  .river," 


75 


SAN   ISIDRO 

said  Agueda.  "I  have  so  much  to  ask  you.  Who 
is  the  Senora  on  the  veranda,  Aneta?" 

"Do  you  not  know  then  that  he  is  married?" 
asked  Aneta,  the  tears  beginning  to  flow  again. 

"Married!"  exclaimed  Agueda,  aghast.  "To 
the  Senora  on  the  veranda?" 

Aneta  nodded  her  head,  while  the  salt  tears 
dropped  down  on  the  towel  with  which  she  was 
slowly  wiping  a  large  platter.  Agueda  was  guilty 
of  a  slight  bit  of  deceit  in  this.  She  had  heard 
that  Don  Mateo  was  married,  but  it  had  never 
occurred  to  her  that  things  would  be  so  sadly 
changed  for  Aneta.  Somehow  she  had  expected  to 
find  her  as  she  had  always  found  her,  seated  on 
the  veranda  in  the  wicker  chair,  the  red  and  yellow 
ribbons  fluttering  in  the  breeze,  and  in  her  lap  the 
embroidery  with  which  she  had  ever  struggled. 

"Can  you  come  down  by  the  river?"  asked 
Agueda. 

"I  suppose  that  I  must  finish  these  dishes,"  said 
Aneta,  through  her  tears.  "Oh,  Agueda,  you 
have  had  nothing  to  eat,  I  am  sure.  You  have 
come  so  far.  Let  me  get  you  something." 

"Yes,  I  have  come  far,  Aneta.  I  should  like  a 
little  something."  It  did  not  occur  to  Agueda  to 
decline  because  of  the  Sefiora's  rudeness.  She  had 
never  heard  of  any  one's  being  refused  food  at  any 
hut,  rancho,  or  casa  in  the  island.  The  stranger 

76 


SAN  ISIDRO 

was  always  welcome  to  what  the  host  possessed, 
poor  though  it  might  be. 

"I  will  not  dismount,"  said  Agueda.  "Perhaps 
you  can  hand  me  a  cup  of  coffee  through  the  win 
dow."  Agueda  rode  close  to  the  opening.  Aneta 
laid  her  dish  down  on  the  table,  and  went  to  the 
stove,  from  which  she  took  the  pot  of  the  still  hot 
coffee.  She  poured  out  a  cupful,  and  handed  it  to 
Agueda. 

"Some  sugar,  please,"  said  Agueda,  holding  the 
cup  back  again.  Aneta  dipped  a  spoon  in  the  sugar 
bowl  which  was  standing  on  the  table  in  its  pan  of 
water.  It  was  a  large  pan,  for  "there  are  even  some 
ants  who  can  swim  very  well,"  so  Aneta  declared. 
Agueda  took  the  cup  gratefully,  and  drained  it  as 
only  a  girl  can  who  has  ridden  many  miles  with  no 
midday  meal. 

"I  hoped  that  I  should  be  asked  to  breakfast, 
Aneta,"  said  Agueda,  wistfully.  She  remembered 
the  time  when  she  had  sat  at  the  table  with  Aneta, 
and  partaken  of  a  pleasant  meal. 

"I  can  hand  you  some  cassava  bread  through  the 
window,  Agueda,"  said  Aneta,  with  no  further 
explanation. 

She  took  from  the  cupboard  a  large  round  of  the 
cassava  and  handed  it  to  Agueda.  Agueda  broke 
it  eagerly  and  ate  hungrily. 

"That  is  good,  Aneta.  Some  more  coffee,  please." 
77 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Aneta  took  up  the  pot  to  pour  out  a  second 
cup.  ^ 

"And  who  told  you  that  you  might  give  my  food 
away?" 

The  voice  was  the  fat  voice  of  the  Senora.  She 
had  exerted  ^herself  sufficiently  to  come  to  the 
kitchen  door. 

"Pardon,  Senora!"  said  Agueda.  Her  face 
expressed  the  astonishment  thai  she  felt.  She 
unconsciously  continued  to  eat  the  round  of  cas 
sava  bread. 

"You  are  still  eating?" 

Agueda  looked  at  the  woman  in  astonishment. 

"Does  the  Senora  mean  that  I  shall  not  eat  the 
bread?"  asked  she. 

"We  do  not  keep  a  house  of  refreshment,"  said 
the  Senora. 

Agueda  handed  the  remainder  of  the  cassava 
bread  to  Aneta. 

"I  see  you  do  not,  Senora.  Come,  Aneta,  come 
down  to  the  river." 

Aneta  looked  hesitatingly  at  the  Senora. 

"You  need  not  mind  the  Senora,  Aneta.  She 
does  not  own  you." 

At  this  Aneta  looked  frightened,  and  the  Senora 
as  angry  as  her  double  chin  would  allow. 

"If  the  girl  leaves,  she  need  not  return,"  said 
the  Senora. 

78 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"My  work  is  nearly  done,"  said  Aneta,  with  a 
fresh  flood  of  tears. 

"Crying,  Aneta!  I  am  ashamed  of  you.  Come, 
I  will  help  you  finish  your  dishes." 

Agueda  rode  around  to  the  veranda  pilotijo  and 
dismounted.  She  tied  Castafio  there,  as  is  the  cus 
tom,  taking  care  that  she  chose  the  pilotijo  furthest 
removed  from  the  main  post,  where  several  machetes 
were  buried  with  a  deep  blade  stroke. 

The  Senora  was  too  heavy  and  lazy  to  object  to 
Agueda' s  generosity.  She  seated  herself  in  the 
doorway  and  watched  the  process  of  dish-washing. 
When  the  girls  had  finished,  the  worn  towels 
wrung  dry  and  hung  on  the  line,  Aneta  took  from 
the  veranda  nail  her  old  straw  hat. 

"On  further  thought,  you  cannot  go,"  said  the 
Senora.  "I  need  some  work  done  in  my  room." 

Agueda  put  her  arm  round  Aneta. 

"I  bought  her  off,"  she  said.  "Come,  Aneta, 
I  have  so  little  time." 

At  these  words  the  Senora  had  the  spirit  to  rise 
and  flap  the  cushion  of  a  shuffling  sole  on  the  floor 
in  imitation  of  a  stamp  of  the  foot. 

"You  cannot  go,"  she  said. 

For  answer  the  two  girls  strolled  down  toward 
the  river,  Castano's  bridle  over  Agueda's  arm, 
Aneta  trembling  at  her  new-found  courage. 

Aneta  was  a  very  pretty,  pale  girl,  with  bronze- 
79 


SAN  ISIDRO 

coloured  hair,  although  her  complexion  was  thick 
and  muddy,  showing  the  faint  strain  of  blood  which 
made  her,  and  would  always  hold  her,  inferior  to 
the  pure  Spanish  or  American  type.  Her  eyes 
were  of  a  greenish  cast,  and  though  small,  were 
sweet  and  modest.  She  was  perhaps  twenty-three 
at  this  time.  It  is  sad  to  have  lived  one's  life  at 
the  age  of  twenty-three. 

"I  have  so  many  years  before  me,  Agueda," 
said  Aneta. 

"Why  do  you  stay  here?"  asked  Agueda. 

"Where  have  I  to  go?"  asked  Aneta. 

"That  is  true,"  assented  Agueda. 

"My  father  will  not  have  me  back.  He  says 
that  I  should  have  been  smart  and  married  Don 
Mateo ;  but  I  never  thought  of  being  smart,  'Gueda ; 
I  never  thought  of  anything  but  howl  loved  him." 

A  pang  of  pity  pierced  the  heart  of  Agueda,  all 
the  stronger  because  she  herself  was  so  secui 

The  two  girls  walked  down  toward  the  shining 
river.  Castafio  followed  along  behind,  nibbling  and 
browsing  until  a  jerk  of  the  bridle  caused  him  to 
raise  his  head  and  continue  his  march. 

The  river  was  glancing  along  below  the  bank. 
Low  and  shallow,  it  had  settled  here  and  there  into 
great  pools,  or  spread  out  thinly  over  the  banks  of 
gravel  which  rose  between. 

"Can  we  bathe,  Aneta?"  asked  Agueda. 
80 


SAN  ISIDRO 

• 

"I  suppose  so,"    said  Aneta,  mournfully. 

"Smile,  Aneta,  do  smile.  It  makes  me  wretched 
to  see  you  so  sad." 

Aneta  shook  her  head. 

"What  have  I  left,  Agueda?" 

Agueda  hung  Castano's  bridle  on  a  limb,  and 
seeking  a  sheltered  spot,  the  two  girls  undressed 
and  plunged  into  the  water,  a  pool  near  the  shore 
providing  a  basin.  One  may  bathe  there  with  per 
fect  seclusion.  The  ford  is  far  below,  and  no  one 
has  reason  to  come  to  this  lonely  spot.  The  water 
was  cool  and  delicious  to  Agueda's  tired  frame. 

"Agueda,"  said  Aneta,  as  they  were  drying 
themselves  in  the  sun,  "will  Castano  carry 
double?" 

"Why,  Aneta,  I  suppose  he  will.  I  never  tried 
him." 

"I  promised  El  Rey  to  come  to  see  him  one  day 
soon.  That  was  weeks  ago.  You  know  that 
Roseta  has  gone.  The  little  creature  is  alone.  If 
I  should  go  there  by  myself  the  Senora  would  say 
bad  things  about  me.  She  would  say  that  I  had 
gone  for  some  wrong  purpose.  God  knows  I  have 
no  wrong  purpose  in  my  heart." 

"Yes,  I  will  go  with  you,"  said  Agueda.  "But, 
we  must  hasten.  I  have  been  away  so  long  already. 
What  time  should  you  think  it  is,  Aneta?" 

Aneta  turned  to  the  west  and  looked  up  to  the 
81 


SAN  ISIDRO 

sky  with  that  critical  eye  which  rural  dwellers  who 
possess  no  timepiece  acquire. 

"Perhaps  three  o'clock,  Agueda,  perhaps  four. 
Not  so  very  late." 

"So  that  I  am  home  by  six  it  will  do,"  said 
Agueda. 

She  reproached  herself  that  she  should  think  of 
the  happiness  that  awaited  her  at  home  while  Aneta 
was  so  sad. 

When  they  were  again  dressed,  Agueda  mounted 
Castafio,  and  riding  close  to  an  old  mahogany 
stump,  gave  her  hand  to  Aneta,  aiding  her  to  spring 
up  to  the  horse's  flank.  Castafio  was  not  over- 
pleased  at  this  addition  to  his  burden,  but  he  made 
no  serious  demonstration,  and  started  off  toward 
the  ford.  The  ford  crossed,  Agueda  guided  Cas 
tafio  along  the  bank  of  the  stream. 

"Is  this  the  Brandon  place?"  asked  Agueda. 

"No,"  said  Aneta.  "It  is  part  of  the  Silencio 
estate." 

Again  Agueda  felt  the  flush  arise  which  had  made 
her  uncomfortable  in  the  morning. 

"I  have  never  been  this  way,"  said  Agueda,  who 
was  following  Aneta's  directions.  "I  was  there 
this  morning,  but  I  rode  down  the  gran'  camino." 

"You  went  there?" 

"Yes;  to  carry  a  note." 

"To  the  Senor?" 

82 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Am  I  going  right,  Aneta?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  easily  diverted  Aneta.  "Fol 
low  the  little  path.  They  live  on  the  river  bank 
below  the  hill."  In  a  few  moments  a  thatched 
roof  began  to  show  through  the  trees. 

"There  it  is,"  said  Aneta;  "there  is  Andres* 
rancho. 

When  they  arrived  at* the  rancho  they  found  that 
the  door  was  closed.  Agueda  rapped  with  her  whip. 
"They  are  all  away,  I  think,"  said  she. 

"Oh!  then,  they  are  not  all  away,"  piped  a  little 
voice  from  the  inside.  "Take  the  key  from  the 
window,  and  I  will  let  you  open  my  door." 

Agueda  laughed.  Aneta  slid  off  the  horse,  and 
Agueda  rode  to  the  high  window,  from  whose  ledge 
she  took  a  key. 

"My  Roseta,  is  that  you?"  called  the  child's 
voice. 

Aneta  looked  up  at  Agueda  and  shook  her  head 
with  a  pitying  motion.  The  child's  sorrow  had 
effaced  her  own  for  the  time. 

"No,  El  Key,"  she  called;  "it  is  Aneta,  and  I 
bring  Agueda,  from  San  Isidro." 

"You  are  welcome,  Sefioritas,"  piped  the  little 
voice  again. 

By  this  time  Aneta  had  inserted  the  key  in  the 
lock  and  opened  the  door.  A  small,  thin  child 
was  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  low  bed.  He  arose  to 

83 


SAN  ISIDRO 

greet  them  with  a  show  of  politeness  which  strug 
gled  against  weariness. 

"Andres  and  Roseta  are  away,"  he  said. 
"Andres  said  that  he  would  bring  her  if  he  could 
find  her." 

Agueda  had  heard  of  El  Rey,  but  she  had  never 
seen  the  child  before. 

"I  should  think  he  would  surely  bring  her," 
said  she  in  a  comforting  tone.  She  was  seeing 
much  misery  to-day.  She  felt  reproached  for  being 
so  happy  herself,  but  she  looked  forward  to  her 
home-coming  as  recompense  for  it  all. 

"Would  you  like  to  come  to  San  Isidro  some 
time,  El  Rey?"  she  asked. 

"Does  Roseta  ever  come  there?"  asked  the  child. 

"She  has  never  been  yet,  but  she  may  come 
some  day,"  answered  Agueda,  with  that  merciful 
deceit  which  keeps  hope  ever  springing  in  the 
breast. 

Aneta  stooped  down  towards  the  floor. 

"Have  you  anything  to  play  with,  El  Rey?"  she 
asked. 

"El  Rey  has  buttons.  El  Rey  has  a  book  that 
the  Sefior  at  Palmacristi  gave  him,  but  he  is  tired 
of  those.  When  will  Roseta  come?" 

Agueda  turned  away. 

"I  cannot  bear  it,"  she  said. 

El  Rey  looked  at  her  curiously. 
84 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Would  you  like  to  ride  the  pretty  little  horse, 
El  Rey?" 

The  child  walked  slowly  to  the  door  and  peered 
wistfully  out. 

"El  Rey  would  like  to  ride;  but  Roseta  might 
come." 

"We  will  not  go  far,"  said  Agueda.  "Come, 
let  me  lift  you  up."  El  Rey  suffered  himself  to  be 
lifted  to  the  horse's  back,  but  his  eyes  were  ever 
searching  the  dim  vista  of  the  woodland  for  the 
form  that  did  not  appear. 

"I  cannot  enjoy  it,  Sefiora,"  said  he,  politely. 
"El  Rey  would  enjoy  the  Sefiora's  kindness  if 
Roseta  could  see  him  ride." 

"I  must  go,  Aneta, "  said  Agueda,  her  eyes 
moist. 

She  lifted  the  child  down  from  Castano's  back. 
He  at  once  entered  the  casa.  He  turned  in  the 
doorway,  his  thin  little  figure  occupying  small  space 
against  the  dark  background. 

"Adios,  Sefioritas,"  said  the  child.  "Oh! 
will  the  Sefioritas  please  put  the  key  on  the  window 
ledge?" 

"We  cannot  lock  you  in,  El  Rey,"  said  Agueda. 

"Do  you  mean  that  we  are  to  lock  you  in,  El 
Rey?"  asked  Aneta  at  the  same  time. 

"Will  the  Sefioritas  please  not  talk,"  said  the 
child.  "I  cannot  hear.  I  sit  and  listen  all  day. 

85 


SAN  ISIDRO 

If  the  Senoritas  talk  I  cannot  hear  if  any  one 
comes." 

"But  must  we  lock  the   door?"  asked  Agueda. 

"Is  that  what  Andres  wishes?"  asked  Aneta. 

"If  you  please,  Senorita;  put  the  key  on  the 
window  ledge." 

"I  shall  not  lock  him  in,"  said  Aneta.  "I  can 
not  do  it.  I  will  stay  a  while,  El  Rey, "  she  said. 

Aneta  sat  down  in  the  doorway,  her  head  upon 
her  hand.  She  belongs  not  to  the  detail  of  this 
story.  She  is  only  one  of  that  majority  of  suffer 
ing  ignorant  beings  with  whom  the  world  is  rilled, 
who  make  the  dark  background  against  which  hap 
pier  souls  shine  out.  Agueda  rode  back  to  the 
ford.  She  galloped  Castafio  now.  At  the  entrance 
of  the  forest  she  turned  and  threw  a  kiss  to  Aneta. 
The  girl  was  still  in  the  doorway,  but  El  Rey  was 
not  to  be  seen.  Agueda  fancied  him  sitting  on  the 
low  bed,  his  ear  strained  to  catch  the  fall  of  a  far 
away  footstep. 


86 


VI 

The  shadows  were  growing  long  when  Agueda 
cantered  down  the  path  that  ran  alongside  of  the 
banana  walk.  She  crossed  the  potrero  at  a  slow 
pace,  for  Castafio  was  tired  and  warm.  As  she 
slowly  rounded  the  corner  of  the  veranda,  a  figure 
caught  her  eye.  It  was  Don  Beltran,  cool  and 
immaculate  in  his  white  linen  suit.  He  was  smok 
ing,  and  seemed  to  be  enjoying  the  sunset  hour. 

"Ah!  are  you  here  at  last,  child!  I  was  just 
about  to  send  your  uncle  to  look  for  you.  Have 
you  had  dinner?" 

"Not  a  mouthful,"  laughed  Agueda,  at  the 
remembrance  of  the  Senora  at  El  Cuco.  It  was 
cruel  to  laugh  while  Aneta  wept,  but  it  was  so  hard 
not  to  be  happy. 

"Tell  Juana  to  bring  you  some  dinner.  There 
was  a  san  coche,  very  good,  and  a  pilauf  of  chicken. 
Did  you  see  Don  Mateo?" 

"No,  Senor,"  said  Agueda,  looking  down. 

"Why  will  you  persist  in  calling  me  Senor, 
Agueda?  I  am  Beltran.  Say  it  at  once — Beltran !" 

"Beltran,"  said  Agueda,  with  a  happy  smile. 
87 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Poor  Aneta !  Poor  everybody  in  the  world  who  did 
not  have  a  Beltran  to  love  her! 

As  Agueda  told  Beltran  the  history  of  her  long 
day,  he  listened  with  interest.  When  she  spoke  of 
Aneta's  changed  life,  "The  brute!"  said  Beltran, 
"the  damned  brute!" 

While  Agueda  was  changing  her  dress  for  the 
dark  blue  skirt  and  white  waist,  Beltran  sat  and 
thought  upon  the  veranda.  When  she  came  out 
again,  he  spoke. 

"Agueda,"  said  he,  "it  is  time  that  you  and  I 
were  married." 

Agueda  blushed. 

"I  see  no  cause  for  haste,"  said  Agueda. 

"It  is  right,"  said  Beltran,  "and  why  should  we 
wait?  What  is  there  to  wait  for?  I  want  you  for 
my  wife.  I  have  never  seen  any  one  who  could 
take  me  from  you,  and  there  is  no  such  person  in 
all  the  world.  All  the  same,  you  must  be  my 
wife. ' ' 

"I  think  the  padre  is  away,"  said  Agueda,  look 
ing  down. 

"He  will  be  back  before  long,  and  then,  if  the 
river  is  still  low,  we  will  go  to  Haldez  some  fine 
morning  and  be  married.  Your  uncle  can  give  you 
away.  He  will  be  very  glad,  doubtless!"  Don 
Beltran  laughed  as  he  spoke.  He  was  not  uncon 
scious  of  Uncle  Adan's  plans,  but  as  they  happened 

88 


SAN   ISIDRO 

to  fall  in  with  his  own,  he  took  them  good- 
naturedly. 

"Do  you  know,  Agueda, "  he  said  presently, 
looking  steadily  at  her,  "that  you  are  better  born 
than  I?" 

"What  does  the  Senor  mean?"  laughed  Agueda. 

"The  Senor?" 

"Well,  then,  Senor— Beltran.  What  do  you 
mean  by  that?" 

"I  mean  what  I  say,  Agueda.  Your  grandfather, 
Don  Estevan,  is  a  count  in  his  own  country — in  old 
Spain.  That  is  where  you  get  your  pretty  slim 
figure,  child,  your  height,  and  your  arched  instep. 
You  are  descended  from  a  long  line  of  noble  ladies, 
Agueda.  I  have  seen  many  a  Spanish  gran'  Senora 
darker  than  you,  my  Agueda.  When  shall  our 
wedding-day  be,  child?" 

Agueda  shook  her  head  and  looked  down  at  the 
little  garment  which  she  was  stitching.  She  had 
no  wish  to  bind  him.  That  was  not  the  way  to 
treat  a  noble  nature  like  his.  Agueda  had  no  cal 
culation  in  her  composition.  Beltran  could  never 
love  her  better  were  they  fifty  times  married.  She 
was  happy  as  the  day.  What  could  make  her 
more  so? 

"Did  the  Senor  enjoy  his  sail  across  the  bay?" 
asked  Agueda. 

"It  was  well  enough,  child.  I  got  the  draft 
89 


SAN  ISIDRO 

cashed,  and,  strange  to  say,  I  found  a  letter  at  the 
post-office  at  Saltona." 

"From  the  coffee  merchant,  I  suppose,  Sefior?" 

"No,  not  from  the  coffee  merchant,  Senora, " 
Beltran  laughed,  teasingly.  "Guess  from  whom, 
Agueda;  but  how  should  you  be  able  to  guess?  It 
is  from  my  uncle,  Agueda.  My  mother's  brother. 
You  know  that  he  married  in  the  States." 

"I  have  heard  the  Sefior  say  that  the  Sefior  his 
uncle  married  in  the  es-States,"  said  Agueda, 
threading  her  fine  needle  with  care,  and  making  a 
tiny  knot.  Beltran  drew  his  chair  close.  He 
twitched  the  small  garment  from  her  hands.  She 
uttered  a  sjight  exclamation.  The  needle  had 
pricked  her  finger.  Beltran  bent  towards  her  with 
remorseful  words,  took  the  slender  finger  beween 
his  own,  and  put  it  to  his  lips.  His  other  hand  lay 
upon  her  shoulder.  She  smiled  up  at  him  with  a 
glance  of  inquiry  mixed  with  shyness.  Agueda  had 
never  got  over  her  shy  little  manner.  The  pressure 
of  his  fingers  upon  her  shoulder  thrilled  her.  She 
felt  as  ever  that  dear  sense  of  intimacy  which  usage 
had  not  dulled. 

Beltran  again  consulted  the  letter  which  he  held. 

"Uncle  N6e  will  arrive  in  a  week's  time,"  he 
said.  "He  is  a  very  particular  gentleman,  is  my 
Uncle  N6e.  Quite  young  to  be  my  uncle.  Look 
at  my  two  grey  hairs,  Agueda." 

90 


SAN  ISIDRO 

She  released  her  hand  from  his,  and  tried  to  twist 
her  short  hair  into  a  knot.  It  looked  much  more 
womanly  so.  She  must  try  to  make  it  grow  if  a 
new  grand  Senor  was  coming  to  San  Isidro.  Don 
Beltran  was  still  consulting  the  letter. 

"He  brings  his  child — his  little  daughter.  Now, 
Agueda,  how  can  we  amuse  the  little  thing?" 

Agueda,  with  work  dropped,  finger  still  pressed 
between  her  small  white  teeth,  answered,  wonder- 
ingly : 

"A  little  child?     Let  me  think,  Senor." 

"Ah!" 

"Well,  then,  again  I  say  Beltran,  if  you  will. 
We  have  not  much."  How  dear  and  natural  the 
plural  of  the  personal  pronoun!  "We  have  not 
much,  I  fear.  There  is  the  little  cart  that  the 
Senora  gave  the  Senor  when  he  was  muchachito. 
That  is  a  good  little  plaything.  I  have  cleaned  it 
well  since  the  last  flood.  The  water  washed  even 
into  the  cupboard.  Then  there  is — there  is — ah, 
yes,  the  diamond  cross.  She  will  laugh,  the  little 
thing,  when  it  flashes  in  the  sunshine.  Children 
love  brilliant  things.  I  remember  well  that  the  lit 
tle  Cristina,  from  the  conuco,  up  there,  used  to 
love  to  see  the  sparkle  of  the  jewels.  But  the  little 
one  will  like  the  toy  best." 

"That  is  not  much,  dear  heart." 

"And  then — and  then — there  may  be  rides  on 
91 


SAN  ISIDRO 

the  bulls,  and  punting  on  the  river  in  the  flatboat, 
and  the  little  chestnut — she  can  ride  Castano,  the 
little  thing!" 

"Not  the  chestnut;  I  trained  him  for  you, 
Agueda,  child." 

"And  why  should  not  the  little  one  ride  him, 
also?  We  can  take  her  into  the  deep  woods  to 
gather  the  mamey  apples,  and  to  the  bushes  down 
in  the  river  pasture  to  gather  the  aguacate.  Only 
the  little  thing  must  be  taught  to  keep  away  from 
the  prickly  branches,  and — sometimes,  Don — Bel- 
tran,  we  might  take  the  child  as  far  as  Haldez,  if 
some  acrobats  or  circus  men  should  arrive.  We 
have  not  been  there  since  Dondy-Jeem  walked  the 
rope  that  bright  Sunday.  Oh,  yes!  we  shall  find 
something  to  amuse  her,  certainly.  A  little  child ! 
We  are  to  have  a  child  in  the  house!"  It  was 
always  a  happy  "we"  with  Agueda.  "How  old  is 
the  little  thing?" 

"I  have  not  heard  from  my  uncle  for  many  years. 
I  do  not  know  when  he  married;  but  he  is  a  young 
man  still,  Uncle  N6e.  Full  of  affectation,  speak 
ing  French  in  preference  to  Spanish  and  English, 
which  are  equally  his  mother  tongues — I  might  say 
his  mother  and  father  tongue — but  with  all  his 
affectations,  delightful." 

"A  little  child  in  the  house !  A  little  child  in  the 
house, "  murmured  Agueda  over  and  over  to  herself. 

92 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Now  it  was  all  bustle  at  the  casa.  San  Isidro 
took  on  a  holiday  air.  There  was  no  more  talk  of 
marriage.  Not  because  Don  Beltran  did  not  think 
of  it  and  wish  it,  but  because  there  was  no  time. 
A  room  down  the  veranda  must  be  beautified 
for  the  little  child.  She  was  to  be  placed  next  her 
father,  that  if  she  should  want  anything  at  night, 
he  could  attend  her. 

"Where  shall  we  put  the  nurse?"  said  Don 
Beltran. 

"I  am  afraid  the  nurse  will  have  to  sleep  in  the 
rancho,  Beltran.  These  two  rooms  take  all  that 
we  have."  Agueda  looked  up  wistfully.  "I  won 
der  how  soon  she  will  come,"  she  said.  "The  lit 
tle  thing!  the  little  thing!" 


93 


VII 

So  soon  as  Agueda  had  disappeared  down  the 
trocha  which  leads  to  the  sea,  Silencio  called  for 
Andres.  Old  Guillermina  came  with  a  halt  and  a 
shuffle.  This  was  caused  by  her  losing  ever  and 
anon  that  bit  of  shoe  in  which  she  thought  it 
respectful  to  seek  her  master,  or  to  obey  his  sum 
mons.  She  agreed  with  some  modern  authorities, 
although  she  had  never  heard  of  them  or  their 
theories,  that  contact  with  Mother  Earth  is  more 
agreeable  and  more  convenient  (she  did  not  know 
of  the  claim  that  it  is  more  healthful)  than  encasing 
the  foot  in  a  piece  of  bull's  hide  or  calf's  skin. 

"Where  is  Andres?"  asked  Don  Gil,  impatiently. 

"Has  the  Senor  forgotten  that  the  Andres  has 
gone  to  the  Port  of  Entry?" 

"He  has  not  gone  there,"  said  Silencio;  "that 
I  know,  for  I  sent  Troncha  in  his  place.  See  where 
he  is,  and  let  me  know.  I  need  a  messenger  at 
once." 

As  Guillermina  turned  her  back,  Don  Gil  bit  his 
lip.  "Then  I  am  helpless,"  he  said  aloud,  "if 
Andres  is  not  here."  He  arose  and  started  after 

94 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Guillermina,  calling  impatiently:  "Do  not  wait  for 
Andres;  get  some  one,  any  one.  I  must  send  a 
message  at  once." 

While  Guillermina  shuffled  away,  Silencio  sat 
himself  down  at  his  desk  and  wrote.  He  wrote 
hurriedly,  the  pen  tearing  across  the  sheet  as  if  for 
a  wager.  As  its  spluttering  ceased,  there  was  a 
knock  at  the  counting-house  door. 

"Entra!"   called  Silencio,  rising. 

It  was  a  moist  day  in  May.  The  June  rains 
were  heralded  by  occasional  showers,  an  earnest  of 
the  future.  The  dampness  was  all-pervading,  the 
stillness  death-like.  No  sound  was  heard  but  the 
occasional  calling  of  the  peons  to  the  oxen  far  afield. 
The  leaves  of  the  ceiba  tree  hung  limp  and  motion 
less;  the  rompe  hache*  had  not  stirred  a  leaf  for 
two  days  past.  No  tender  airs  played  caressingly 
against  the  nether  side  of  the  palm  tufts  and 
swayed  them  in  fan-like  motion.  The  gri-gri  stood 
tall  and  grand,  full  of  foliage  at  the  top.  Its  num 
berless  little  leaves  were  precisely  outlined,  each 
one,  against  the  sky.  One  might  almost  fear  that 
he  were  looking  at  a  painting  done  by  one  of  the 
artists  of  the  early  Hudson  River  school,  so  dis 
tinctly  was  the  edge  of  each  leaf  and  twig  drawn 
against  its  background  of  blue. 

Rotiro    stood    and    waited.     Then    he    knocked 

*  Literally,  hatchet  breaker. 
95 


SAN  ISIDRO 

again.  A  step  was  heard  approaching  from  an  inner 
room. 

"Entra!"  called  a  voice  from  within,  but  louder 
than  before. 

Rotiro  obeyed  the  permission.  He  entered  the 
outer  room  to  find  Don  Gil  just  issuing  from  the 
inner  one — that  holy  of  holies,  where  no  profane 
foot  of  peon,  shod  or  unshod,  had  ever  penetrated. 
Rotiro  touched  his  forelock  by  way  of  salutation, 
drew  his  machete  from  its  yellow  leathern  belt, 
swung  it  over  his  shoulder,  and  brought  it  round 
and  down  with  a  horizontal  cut,  slashing  fiercely 
into  the  post  of  the  doorway.  It  sank  deep,  and 
he  left  it  there,  quivering. 

Silencio  was  moistening  the  flap  of  an  envelope 
with  his  lip  as  Rotiro  entered.  After  a  look  at 
Rotiro,  Don  Gil  thought  it  best  to  light  a  taper, 
take  a  bit  of  wax  from  the  tray  and  seal  the  note. 
He  pressed  it  with  the  intaglio  of  his  ring.  The 
seal  bore  the  crest  of  the  Silencios.  When  he  had 
finished  he  held  the  note  for  a  moment  in  his  hand, 
to  dry  thoroughly.  As  he  stood,  he  surveyed  the 
machete  of  Rotiro,  which  still  trembled  in  the  door 
post.  The  post  was  full  of  such  gashes,  indicating 
it  as  a  common  receptacle  for  bladed  weapons.  It 
served  the  purpose  of  an  umbrella-stand  at  the 
north.  Don  Billy  Blake  had  said:  "We  don't 
carry  umbrellas  into  parlours  at  the  No'th,  and  I 

96 


SAN  ISIDRO 

bedam  if  any  man,  black  or  shaded,  shall  bring  his 
machett  into  my  shanty." 

Don  Billy  was  looked  upon  as  an  arbiter  of  fash 
ion.  This  fashion,  however,  antedated  Don  Billy's 
advent  in  the  island. 

Rotiro  unslung  his  shotgun  from  his  shoulder 
and  stepped  inside  the  doorway.  He  leaned  the 
gun  against  the  inner  wall. 

"Buen'  dia',  Seno',"  he  nodded. 

"Set  that  gun  outside,  Rotiro." 

"My  e'copeta  very  good  e'copeta,  Sefio'  Don  Gil. 
It  a  excellent  e'copeta.  It  is,  however,  as  you 
know,  not  much  to  be  trusted ;  it  go  off  sometimes 
with  little  persuasion  on  my  part,  often  again  with 
out  much  reason." 

' '  Following  the  example  of  your  tongue.  Listen ! 
Rotiro.  I  wish  to  do  the  talking.  Attend  to  what 
I  say.  Here  is  a  note.  I  wish  you  to  take  it  up 
back  of  Troja,  to  the  Sefior  Escobeda. " 

"But,  Seno',  I  thought—" 

"You  thought!  So  peons  think!  On  this  sub 
ject  you  have  no  need  to  think.  Take  this  note  up 
to  Troja,  and  be  quick  about  it.  I  want  an  answer 
within  an  hour.  Waste  no  time  on  thoughts  or 
words,  and  above  all,  waste  no  time  in  going  or 
returning.  See  the  Sefior  Escobeda.  Hand  him 
the  note,  see  what  he  has  to  say,  and  bring  me  word 


SAN  IS1DRO 

as  soon  as  possible.  Notice  how  he  looks,  how  he 
speaks,  what — " 

"But  the  Sefio'  may  not — " 

"Still  talking?  Go  at  once!  Do  you  remember 
old  Amadeo,  who  was  struck  by  lightning?  I 
always  believed  that  it  was  to  quiet  his  tongue.  It 
certainly  had  that  effect.  But  for  the  one  servant 
I  have  had  who  has  been  struck  by  lightning,  I 
have  had  twenty  who  ought  to  have  been.  There 
was  a  prince  in  a  foreign  land  who  was  driven  crazy 
by  his  servants.  He  said,  'Words!  words!  words!' 
I  wonder  very  much  what  he  would  have  said  could 
he  have  passed  a  week  on  the  plantation  of  Palma- 
cristi." 

As  the  Devil  twists  Scripture  to  suit  his  purpose, 
so  Silencio  was  not  behind  him  in  his  interpretation 
of  Shakespeare,  and  Rotiro  prepared  for  his  jour 
ney,  with  a  full  determination  to  utter  no  unneces 
sary  word  during  the  rest  of  his  life.  In  dead 
silence  he  withdrew  his  machete  from  its  gash  in 
the  doorpost,  tied  the  letter  round  his  neck  by  its 
cord  of  red  silk,  swung  his  apology  for  a  hat  upon 
his  head,  and  was  off.  Meanwhile  Don  Gil  sat  and 
waited. 

The  hour  ended  as  all  hours,  good  or  bad,  must 
end.  Don  Gil  kept  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  clock. 
Ah!  it  was  five  minutes  past  the  hour  now. 

"If  I  find  that  he  has  delayed  one  minute  beyond 
98 


SAN  ISIDRO 

the  necessary — possibly  Escobeda  has  held  him 
there,  taken  him  prisoner — prisoner!  In  the  nine 
teenth  century!  But  an  Escobeda  is  ready  for  any 
thing;  perhaps  he  has — "  There  was  a  step  at  the 
doorway. 

"Entra!"  shouted  Don  Gil,  before  one  had  the 
time  to  knock,  and  Rotiro  entered.  He  had  no 
time  to  say  a  word.  He  had  not  swung  his  arm 
round  his  head,  nor  settled  the  machete  safely  in 
the  post  of  the  door,  before  Don  Gil  said,  impa 
tiently : 

"Well!  well!  What  is  it?  Will  the  man  never 
speak?  Did  you  see  the  Senor  Escobeda?  Open 
that  stupid  head  of  yours,  man !  Say  something — ' ' 

Rotiro  was  breathless.  He  set  his  gun  in  the 
corner  with  great  deliberation.  At  first  his  words 
would  not  come;  then  he  drew  a  quick  breath  and 
said : 

"I  saw  the  Seno'  E'cobeda,  Don  Gil.  He  is  a 
fine  man,  the  Seno'  E'cobeda.  Oh!  yes,  he  is 
a  very  fine  man,  the  Seno' !" 

"Ah!"  said  Don  Gil,  dryly,  "did  he  send  me  a 
message,  this  very  fine  man?" 

Rotiro  thrust  his  hand  into  the  perpendicular  slit 
that  did  duty  for  a  legitimate  opening  in  his  shirt. 
He  was  dripping  with  moisture.  Great  beads 
stood  out  upon  his  dark  skin.  He  pulled  the  faded 
pink  cotton  from  his  wet  body  and  brought  to  light 

99 


SAN  ISIDRO 

a  folded  paper.  This  he  handed  to  Don  Gil.  The 
paper  was  far  from  dry.  Don  Gil  took  the  parcel. 
He  broke  the  thread  which  secured  it — the  thread 
seemed  much  shorter  than  when  he  had  knotted  it 
earlier  in  the  day — and  discovered  the  letter  which 
he  sought.  The  letter  was  addressed  to  himself. 

Don  Gil  opened  this  missive  with  little  difficulty. 
The  sticky  property  of  the  flap  had  been  impaired 
by  its  contact  with  the  damp  surroundings.  Don 
Gil  read  the  note  with  a  frown. 

"Caramba  hombre!  Did  you  go  up  back  of 
Troja  for  this?" 

Rotiro  raised  his  shoulders  and  turned  his  palms 
outward. 

"As  the  Sefio'  see." 

If  Rotiro  had  gone  "up  back  of  Troja"  for  noth 
ing,  it  was  obviously  the  initial  occasion  in  the  his 
tory  of  the  island.  The  natives,  as  well  as  the 
foreigners,  seemed  to  go  "up  back  of  Troja"  for 
every  article  that  they  needed.  They  bought  their 
palm  boards  back  of  Troja.  They  bought  their 
horses  back  of  Troja.  They  bought  their  cattle 
back  of  Troja.  Back  of  Troja  was  made  the  best 
rum  that  was  to  be  had  in  all  the  island.  Back  of 
Troja,  for  some  undiscovered  reason,  were  found 
the  best  guns,  the  best  pistols,  the  sharpest 
"colinos,"  smuggled  ashore  at  the  cave,  doubtless, 
and  taken  in  the  night  through  dark  florestas, 


SAN  ISIDRO 

impenetrable  to  officers  of  the  law.  Many  a  wife, 
light  of  skin  and  slim  of  ankle,  had  come  from  back 
of  Troja  to  wed  with  the  people  nearer  the  sea. 
The  region  back  of  Troja  was  a  veritable  mine,  but 
for  once  the  mine  had  refused  to  yield  up  what  the 
would-be  prospector  desired. 

"He'll  get  no  wife  from  back  of  Troja,"  thought 
Rotiro,  whose  own  life   partner,  out  of  the  bonds 
of  wedlock,  had  enjoyed  that  distinction. 
"Whom  did  you  see  back  of  Troja?" 
"The     Seno'     E'cobeda,     Seno'.       The      Seno' 
E'cobeda  is  a  ver — " 

"Yes,    yes,    I     know!     How    you    natives    will 
always  persist  in  slipping  your  's, '  except  when  it 
is  superfluous!     How  did  Escobeda  look?" 
"Much  as  usual,  Seno'.      He  is  a  very  fi — " 
"Was  he  pleasant,  or  did  he  frown?" 
"In  truth,  Seno'  Don  Gil,  I  cannot  say  for  one, 
how  he   look.      I  saw  but  the  back  of  the  Seno' 
E'cobeda.      He  look — " 

"As  much  of  a  cut-throat  as  ever,  I  suppose?" 
"Si,  Seno'.     The  Seno'  was  seated  in  his  oficina. 
He  had  his  back  to  me.      I  saw  nothing  but  his 
ear-rings  and  the  very  fine  white  shirt  that  he  wore." 
"Well,  well!      He  read  the 'note,  and— 
"He  read  the  note,  Seno',    and — and — he  read 
the  note,  and — he  read  the  n — " 
"Well,  well,  well!" 

101 


SAN  ISIDRO 

''And  shall  I  tell  the  Seno'  all,  then?" 

"Will  you  continue?  or  shall  I — "  Don  Gil's 
tone  was  threatening. 

"If  the  Seno*  will.  He  laugh,  Seno'  Don  Gil. 
He  laugh  very  long  and  very  loud,  and  then  I  hear 
a  es-snarl.  It  es-sound  like  a  dog.  Once  he  reach 
toward  the  wall  for  his  'colino.'  I  at  once  put 
myself  outside  of  the  casa,  and  behind  the  pilotijo. 
When  he  did  not  advance,  I  put  an  eye  to  the  crack, 
all  the  es-same." 

"And  it  was  then  that  he  wrote  the  note?" 

"Si,  Seno' ;  it  was  then  that  he  wrote  the  answer 
and  present  it  to  me." 

"And  said—?" 

"He  said,  oh!  I  assure  the  Seno'  it  was  nothing 
worthy  to  hear;  the  Seno'  would  not — " 

"He  said — ?"  There  was  a  dangerous  light  in 
Don  Gil's  eye. 

"And  I  must  tell  the  Seno'?  He  said,  'Here! 
give  this  to  that — that — '  " 

"That—?" 

"  'That  truhan!'  I  pray  the  Don  Gil  forgive  me; 
the  Don  Gil  make  me — " 

Silencio's  face  had  flushed  darkly. 

"Continue." 

Rotiro,  embarrassed  beyond  measure,  forgot  what 
he  had  learned  by  fair  means  and  what  by  foul,  and 
blundered  on. 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"He  did  not  say  whether  the  Senorit'  had  go  to 
the  Port  of  Entry;  he — " 

"And  who  told  you  to  enquire  whether  the 
Senorita  had  gone  to  the  Port  of  Entry  or  not?" 

Rotiro  perceived  at  once  that  he  had  made  a 
gigantic  slip.  When  Don  Gil  next  spoke,  Rotiro 
was  busy  watching  the  parjara  bobo  which  loped 
along  within  the  enclosure.  The  bird,  stupid  by 
name  and  nature  alike,  came  so  close  that  Rotiro 
could  almost  have  touched  it  with  his  hand. 

"Do  you  hear  my  question?" 

Rotiro  started  at  the  tones  of  thunder. 

"No  one  inform  me,  Seno'.  I  had  heard  talk 
of  it." 

"Two  fools  in  one  enclosure!  The  bird  is  as 
clever  as  you.  Do  not  try  to  think,  Rotiro.  Have 
you  never  heard  that  peons  should  never  try  to 
think?  Leave  the  vacuum  which  nature  abhors  in 
its  natural  state."  Rotiro  looked  blankly  at  Don 
Gil,  who  often  amused  himself  at  the  expense  of 
the  stupid.  Just  now  he  was  angry,  and  ready  to 
say  something  harsh  which  even  a  wiser  peon  than 
Rotiro  could  not  understand.  Rotiro's  vacuum 
was  working,  however,  as  even  vacuums  will. 
"Decidedly,  I  have  made  a  very  grand  mistake  of 
some  kind ;  but  when  a  letter  will  not  stick,  it  is  so 
easy — the  thing,  however,  is  not  to  let  him — " 

"Rotiro!" 

103 


SAN  ISIDRO 

The  peon  started.  Don  Gil  stood  facing  him. 
His  eyes  were  blazing.  Rottro's  arm  twitched  with 
the  desire  to  reach  for  his  machete. 

"If  I  ever  find  you — "  Don  Gil  spoke  slowly 
and  impressively,  his  forefinger  moving  up  and 
down  in  time  with  his  words — "if  ever  I  find  you 
opening  a  letter  of  mine,  either  a  letter  that  I  send 
or  one  that  I  receive,  I  will  send  you  to  Saltona, 
and  I  shall  ask  the  alcalde  to  put  you  in  the  army." 

Rotiro's  knees  developed  a  sudden  weakness.  He 
would  much  rather  be  led  to  the  wall  outside  the 
town,  turned  with  his  face  towards  its  cold  grey 
stone,  and  have  his  back  riddled  with  bullets.  At 
least,  so  he  thought  at  the  moment. 

"The  Seno'  will  never  find  me  opening  a  letter, 
either  now  or  at  any  other  time. ' '  (Nor  will  he. 
Does  he  think  that  1  should  be  so  stupid  as  to  open 
them  before  his  face?  Or  ivithin  two  and  a  half 
miles  of  the  Casa  de  Caobaf) 

"Very  well,  then.  Be  off  with  you.  Take  your 
gun  out  of  my  counting-house  and  your  colino  out 
of  my  doorpost,  and  yourself  out  of  my  sight." 

"The  Seno'  Don  Gil  allow  that  I  accommodate 
myself  with  a  little  ching-ching?" 

"Always  ching-ching,  Rotiro.  Bieng,  bieng! 
Tell  Alfredo  to  give  you  a  half-glass,  not  of  the 
pink  rum — that  is  not  for  such  as  you.  You 
remember,  perhaps,  what  happened  the  last  time 

104 


SAN  ISIDEO 

that  I  gave  you  a  ching-ching.  I  should  have  said 
No." 

"I  assure  the  Sefio'  that  Garcito  Romando  was 
a  worthless  man.  O,  yes,  Seno',  an  utterly 
worthless  man — an  entirely  useless  man.  He  could 
not  plant  the  suckers,  he  could  not  plant  the  cacao, 
he  could  not  drive  four  bulls  at  a  time;  there  was 
no  place  for  Garcito  Romando  either  in  heaven  or 
in  hell.  Marianna  Romando  was  weary  of  him. 
Purgatory  was  closed  to  him,  and  the  blessed  island 
was  too  good  for  him.  He  stole  three  dollars  Mex. 
of  me  once.  My  e'copeta  did,  perhaps,  go  off  a 
little  early,  but  the  Sefio'  should  thank  me.  He 
has  on  his  finca  one  bobo  the  less,  and  the  good 
God  knows — " 

Rotiro  was  not  only  fluent,  he  was  confluent. 
He  ran  his  words  together  in  the  most  rapid  man 
ner. 

Don  Gil  raised  his  hand  as  if  to  ward  off  the 
storm  of  words.  "He  was  certainly  a  fool  to  tam 
per  with  a  man  whose  gun  shoots  round  the  corner. 
Come!  Be  off  with  you!  Three  fingers,  and  no 
more." 


105 


VIII 

There  are  days  which  are  crowded  with  events; 
days  so  bursting  with  happenings  that  a  single 
twenty-four  hours  will  not  suffice  to  tell  the  tale. 
There  are  other  days  so  blank  and  uneventful  that 
one  sighs  for  very  weariness  when  one  thinks  of 
them.  It  is  not  well  to  wish  time  away,  but  such 
days  are  worse  than  useless.  It  is,  however,  of  one 
of  the  former  that  this  chapter  relates.  To  a  little 
community  like  that  surrounding  San  Isidro  and 
Palmacristi,  to  say  nothing  of  Troja,  the  day  on 
which  Agueda  carried  the  note  for  Raquel  was  full 
of  events. 

When  Escobeda  went  from  Raquel's  room,  slam 
ming  the  door  after  him,  the  terrified  girl  dropped 
on  her  knees  before  Ana.  All  her  courage  seemed 
to  have  flown.  She  bent  her  head  and  laid  it  in 
Ana's  lap,  and  then  tears  rained  down  and  drenched 
Ana's  new  silk  apron. 

"Ana,"  she  whispered,  "Ana,  who  is  there  to 
help  me?" 

Ana  sighed  and  sniffed,  and  one  or  two  great 
drops  rolled  off  her  brown  nose  and  splashed  down 
on  the  back  of  Raquel's  dark  head. 

106 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"There  is  no  one  but  you  and  God,  Ana." 

"Holy  Mother!  child,  do  not  be  so  irreverent." 

"Can  you  steal  out  into  the  corridor  and  down 
the  two  little  steps,  and  into  the  rum  room,  Ana, 
and  hear  what  is  being  said?" 

"I  am  too  heavy;  that  you  know,  Senorita.  The 
boards  creak  at  the  very  sound  of  my  name.  I  am 
tall,  my  bones  are  large.  Such  persons  cannot  trip 
lightly;  they  tip  the  scales  at  a  goodly  number  of 
pounds.  Holy  Mother!  If  he  should  catch  me  at 
it!"  and  Ana  shivered,  her  tears  drying  at  once 
from  fright. 

"You  could  very  well  do  it  if  you  chose.  Listen, 
Ana.  If  he  takes  me  away,  I  shall  die.  Now  I 
tell  you  truly,  Ana,  I  will  never  go  to  that  govern 
ment  house  alive;  that  you  may  as  well  know.  Get 
me  my  mother's  dagger,  Ana." 

Ana  arose  and  went  to  a  bureau  drawer.  The 
drawer  squeaked  as  she  pulled  at  the  knobs. 

A  far  door  was  heard  opening.  "What  is  that?" 
roared  Escobeda. 

"I  am  packing  the  child's  trunks,  Senor.  How 
can  I  pack  them  unless  I  may  open  the  drawer?" 
There  was  a  sound  of  retreating  footsteps  and  the 
closing  of  the  door.  Raquel  looked  at  Ana,  who 
was  kneeling  upon  the  floor,  searching  in  the  drawer. 

"Ah!  here  it  is,"  said  Ana.  "But  you  will  not 
use  it,  sweet?" 

107 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Not  unless  I  must,"  said  Raquel.  She  sighed. 
"Not  unless  I  must.  I  do  not  want  to  die,  Ana. 
I  love  my  life,  but  there  is  a  great  horror  over 
there."  She  nodded  her  head  in  the  direction  of 
the  Port  of  Entry.  "When  that  horror  comes  very 
near  me,  then  I — "  Raquel  made  as  if  she  would 
thrust  the  dagger  within  her  breast.  Ana  shud 
dered. 

"I  shall  not  see  it,"  she  said.  "But  I  advise  it, 
all  the  same,  if  you  must." 

She  drew  the  girl  up  to  her,  and  cried  helplessly 
upon  her  neck. 

"Can't  you  think  a  little  for  me,  Ana?  It  is  hard 
always  to  think  for  one's  self." 

"No,"  said  Ana,  shaking  her  head,  "I  never  have 
any  fresh  thoughts.  I  always  follow." 

"Then,  dear  Ana,  just  tiptoe  down  and  listen. 
It  is  the  last  thing  that  I  shall  ever  ask  of  you,  Ana. 

Ana,  her  eyes  streaming  with  tears,  took  her 
slippers — those  tell-tale  flappers — from  her  feet, 
and  went  to  the  door.  She  turned  the  knob  gently 
and  pushed  the  door  outward  without  noise.  As 
she  opened  it  she  heard  Escobeda's  voice,  raised  in 
angry  tones. 

"Go  now!  now!  while  he  is  scolding, "  whispered 
Raquel.  "He  will  not  hear  you.  I  must  know 
what  he  is  saying  to  that  man.  Do  you  think  it  is 
the  Senor  Silencio's  messenger?" 

108 


SAN   ISIDRO 

Ana  nodded  and  put  her  finger  to  her  lip.  She 
crept  noiselessly  along  the  passage.  Raquel,  listen 
as  she  would,  heard  nothing  of  Ana's  footsteps,  for 
Escobeda  was  still  swearing  so  loudly  as  to  drown 
every  other  sound. 

Raquel  went  to  the  bureau,  and  took  from  the 
drawer  a  piece  of  kid.  She  seated  herself  and 
began  to  polish  her  weapon  of  defence.  "Of 
death,"  said  Raquel  to  herself.  "If  I  am  forced — " 

She  peeped  out,  but  Ana  had  turned  the  corner, 
and  was  hidden  from  sight.  Ah!  she  must  be  in 
the  rum  'room  now,  where  she  could  both  peer 
through  the  cracks  and  hear  all  that  was  said  on 
either  side.  Suddenly  a  far  door  was  violently 
wrenched  open,  and  Raquel  heard  Escobeda' s  steps 
coming  along  the  corridor.  Where  was  Ana,  then? 
Raquel's  heart  stood  still.  Escobeda  came  on 
until  he  reached  the  door  of  Raquel's  chamber. 
The  girl  did  not  alter  her  position,  and  but  for  her 
flushed  cheeks  there  was  no  sign  of  agitation.  She 
bent  her  head,  and  rubbed  the  shining  steel  with 
much  force. 

"Where  is  that  lazy  Ana?" 

Raquel  raised  her  innocent  eyes  to  his. 

"Did  you  call,  uncle?  Well,  then,  she  must 
have  gone  to  the  kitchen." 

"You  lie,"  said  Escobeda. 

Raquel's  cheeks  reddened  still  more. 
109 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Perhaps  I  do,  uncle.  At  all  events,  she  is  not 
here." 

"What  have  you  there?" 

Escobeda  had  stooped  towards  the  girl  with  hand 
outstretched,  but  she  had  sprung  to  her  feet  in  a 
moment,  and  stood  at  bay,  the  dagger  held,  not  in 
a  threatening  attitude,  but  so  that  it  could  be 
turned  towards  the  man  at  any  moment. 

"It  is  my  mother's  dagger,  uncle." 

"What  are  you  doing  with  it?" 

"Polishing  it  for  my  journey,  uncle." 

"Give  it  to  me." 

"Why  should  I  give  it  to  you,  uncle?" 

"Because  I  tell  you  to." 

Raquel's  hair  had  fallen  down;  she  was  scantily 
clothed.  Her  cheeks  were  ablaze.  She  looked  like 
a  tigress  brought  to  bay. 

"Do  you  remember  my  mother,  uncle?" 

"I  remember  your  mother;  what  of  her?" 

"Do  you  know  what  she  said  to  me  at  the  last — 
at  the  last,  uncle?" 

"I  neither  know  nor  care,"  said  Escobeda. 
"Hand  me  the  knife." 

"My  mother  told  me,"  said  Raquel,  still  polish 
ing  the  blade  and  changing  its  direction  so  that  the 
point  was  held  towards  Escobeda — "my  mother  told 
me  to  keep  this  little  thing  always  at  hand.  It  has 
always  been  with  me.  You  do  not  know  how 


SAN  ISIDRO 

many  times  I  have  had  the  thought  to  turn  it  upon 
you" — Escobeda  started  and  paled — "when  your 
cruelties  have  been  worse  than  usual.  Sometimes 
at  night  I  have  thought  of  creeping,  creeping  along 
the  hall  there,  and  going  to  the  side  of  your  bed — " 

"You  murderess!"  shouted  Escobeda.  "So  you 
would  do  that,  would  you?  It  is  time  that  you 
came  under  the  restraint  that  you  will  find  over 
there  in  the  government  town.  Do  you  hear? 
Give  me  the  knife.  It  was  like  that  she-dev — " 

"I  can  hear  quite  well  with  it  in  my  hand,"  said 
Raquel.  "You  may  say  whatever  comes  into  your 
head,  only  about  my  mother.  That  I  will  not  bear. 
Speak  of  her  gently,  I  warn  you — I  warn  you — " 

"Do  you  know  who  the  man  was  who  came  to 
me  just  now?" 

"The  Senor  Silencio?"  said  Raquel,  breathless, 
her  eyes  flashing  with  a  thousand  lights. 

"No,  it  was  not  the  Senor  Silencio."  Raquel's 
eyelids  drooped.  "But  it  was  the  next  thing  to  it. 
It  was  that  villain,  Rotiro.  I  could  have  bought 
him,  as  well  as  Silencio.  A  little  rum  and  a  few 
pesos,  and  he  is  mine  body  and  soul.  But  I  do  not 
want  him.  I  have  followers  in  plenty — " 

"Those  who  follow  you  for  love?"  said  Raquel, 
with  sly  malice  in  her  tone. 

Escobeda  flashed  a  dark  and  hateful  look  upon 
her. 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"It  makes  no  difference  why  they  follow  me. 
They  are  all  mine,  body  and  soul,  just  as  you  are 
mine,  body  and  soul." 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  me  why  Rotiro  came  here 
to-day?"  asked  Raquel. 

"Yes,  that  is  what  I  came  to  tell  you.  I  came 
purposely  to  tell  you  that.  The  Senor  Silencio 
sent  me  a  letter  by  the  villain  Rotiro." 

"For  me?"  asked  Raquel,  breathless.  "Oh, 
uncle!  Let  me  see  it,  let  me — " 

"No,  it  was  to  me.  But  I  will  tell  you  its  con 
tents.  I  will  tell  you  gladly.  He  offers  you  his 
hand  in  marriage." 

"Oh,  uncle!" 

The  girl's  eyes  were  dancing.  She  blushed  and 
paled  alternately ;  then  drew  a  long  sigh,  and  waited 
for  Escobeda  to  speak  further. 

"From  your  appearance,  I  should  judge  that  you 
wish  me  to  accept  him  for  you." 

"Oh,  uncle!"  Again  the  girl  drew  short,  quick 
breaths.  She  gazed  eagerly  into  Escobeda's  face. 
"Can  you  think  anything  else?  Now  I  need  not 
go  away.  Now  I  need  not  be  longer  a  burden  upon 
you.  Now  I  shall  have  a  home!  Now — I — shall — 
be — "  The  girl  hesitated  and  dropped  her  voice, 
and  then  it  died  away  in  a  whisper.  But  one  meaning 
could  be  drawn  from  Escobeda's  cunning  screwed- 
up  eyes,  his  look  of  triumph,  his  smile  of  wickedness. 


SAN  ISIDRO 

They  stood  gazing  at  each  other  thus  for  the 
space  of  a  few  seconds,  those  seconds  so  fraught 
with  dread  on  the  one  side,  with  malice  and  tri 
umphant  delight  on  the  other. 

"Your  mother  hated  me,  Raquel.  Perhaps  she 
never  had  the  kindness  to  tell  you  that.  I  found 
her  when  she  was  dying.  You  remember,  perhaps, 
when  she  asked  you,  her  little  girl,  to  withdraw 
for  a  while,  that  she  might  speak  with  me  alone?" 

"I  remember,  uncle,"  said  Raquel,  panting. 

' '  It  was  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  she  preferred 
your  father  to  me.  She  had  loved  me  first.  She 
was  my  father's  ward.  But  when  he  came,  with 
his  handsome  face  and  girlish  ways,  she  threw  me 
aside  like  a  battered  doll.  She  said  that  I  was 
cruel,  but  she  never  discovered  that  until  she  fell  in 
love  with  your  father.  She  ran  away  with  him  one 
night  when  I  was  at  the  city  on  business  for  my 
father.  The  doting  old  man  could  not  keep  a 
watch  upon  them,  but  I  followed  their  fortunes. 
She  never  knew  that  it  was  I  who  had  him  fol 
lowed  to  the  mines,  where  he  thought  he  had  dis 
covered  a  fortune,  and  killed  him  in  the  cold  and 
dark — " 

"Are  you  a  devil?"  asked  Raquel. 

"His  bones,  you  can  see  them  now,  Raquel; 
they  were  never  buried — they  lie  up  there  on  the 
floor  of  the  old — " 

113 


SAN   ISIDRO 

The  dagger  slipped  from  Raquel's  fingers,  and 
she  slid  to  the  floor. 

"No,  I  did  not  tell  her  that  I  should  take  out  my 
vengeance  upon  her  child.  I  knew  my  time  would 
come.  Silencio's  offer  is  of  as  much  value  as  if 
written  in  the  sand  down  there  by  the  river, 
the—" 

Ana  came  in  at  the  doorway.  Escobeda  stooped 
and  picked  up  the  dagger.  "She  will  hardly  need 
this,"  he  said,  as  he  stuck  it  in  his  belt. 

When  Raquel  opened  her  eyes  Ana  was  bending 
over  her,  as  usual  in  floods  of  tears,  drenching  the 
girl  alternately  with  warm  water  from  her  tender 
eyes  and  cold  water  from  the  perron. 

Raquel  sat  up  and  looked  about  her  as  one  dazed. 
She  clutched  at  the  folds  of  her  dress.  The  piece 
of  kid  lay  in  her  hand. 

"Oh,  Ana!"  she  sobbed,  "he  has  taken  it  away. 
All  that  I  had.  My  only  protection." 

Ana  arose  and  quietly  closed  the  door. 

"Sweet,"  she  said,  "I  have  good  news  for  you." 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Raquel,  sitting  up,  all  inter 
est,  her  dull  eyes  brightening. 

"I  crept  along  the  hall,"  said  Ana,  "and  when 
I  reached  the  rum  room  I  slipped  in  and  closed  the 
door  softly,  and  listened  through  the  cracks.  When 
he  came  here,  I  slipped  out  to  the  kitchen,  and 
there  I  have  been  ever  since. ' ' 

u4 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"But  the  good  news,"  asked  Raquel.  "Quick! 
Ana,  tell  me." 

"He  was  sitting  at  his  desk,  the  Senor  Escobeda, 
his  back  to  the  door,  so  unlike  any  other  gentle 
man.  If  they  must  rage,  they  stand  up  and  do  it. 
But  there  he  sat,  swearing  by  all  the  gods  at  some 
thing.  I  saw  that  that  man  Rotiro  from  Palma- 
cristi  had  run  out  of  the  counting-house,  and  was 
peeping  in  at  the  door;  and  I  listened,  hoping  to 
find  out  something,  and  I  have,  sweet,  I  have." 

"Well!  well!  Ana,  dear  Ana,  hasten!  hasten! — " 

"I  have  found  out  that  the  Senor  Don  Gil  asks 
your  hand  in  marriage." 

Raquel  sank  down  again  in  a  heap  on  the  floor. 

"Is  that  all,  Ana?"  she  said. 

"All!  And  what  more  can  the  Sefiorita  want  than 
to  have  a  gentleman,  rich,  handsome,  devoted,  offer 
her  his  hand  in  honourable  marriage?" 

"I  only  want  one  thing  more,  Ana  dear, "  said 
Raquel,  sadly,  "the  power  to  accept  it." 

"The  power  to  accept  it?"  said  Ana,  question- 
ingly.  "Is  the  child  mad?" 

"He  twits  me  with  it.  He  says  that  I  shall  not 
accept  him,  the  Senor  Don  Gil.  He  says  that  I 
shall  go  in  any  case  to  the  government  town.  He 
has  taken  away  my  dagger.  I  cannot  even  kill 
myself,  Ana.  Oh!  what  am  I  to  do?  Gil!  Gil! 
Come  and  save  me." 

"5 


SAN  ISIDRO 

At  this  heavy  steps  were  heard  coming  along  the 
corridor.  The  door  was  burst  open  with  a  blow  of 
Escobeda's  fist. 

"You  need  not  scream  or  call  upon  your  lover, 
or  on  anybody  else.  You  have  no  one  to  aid  you." 

"No  one  but  God,  and  my  dear  Ana  here,"  said 
Raquel. 

"One  is  about  as  much  use  as  the  other,"  said 
Escobeda,  laughing.  "Call  as  loud  as  you  will, 
one  is  quite  deaf  and  the  other  helpless." 

Raquel  rose  to  her  feet. 

' '  Will  you  leave  my  room  ?' '  she  said  with  dignity. 

"I  will  leave  your  room,  because  I  have  done  all 
that  I  came  to  do." 

"You  have  broken  the  child's  heart,  Sefior, "  said 
Ana,  with  unwonted  courage,  "if  that  is  what  you 
came  to  do." 

"If  I  can  break  her  spirit,  that  is  all  I  care  for," 
said  Escobeda. 

"You  will  never  break  my  spirit,"  said  Raquel. 
She  stood  there  so  defiant,  the  color  coming  and 
going  in  her  face,  her  splendid  hair  making  a  veil 
about  her,  that  Escobeda  looked  upon  her  with  the 
discriminating  eye  of  fresh  discovery. 

"By  Heaven,"  he  said,  "you  are  more  beautiful 
than  ever  your  mother  was!  If  I  had  not  promised 
the  Governor — ' ' 

"Spare  her  your  insults,"  said  Ana,  her  indig- 
116 


SAN  ISIDRO 

nation  aroused.  She  pushed  the  door  against  his 
thick  figure,  and  shot  the  bolt.  They  heard  Esco- 
beda's  laugh  as  he  flung  it  back  at  them.  What 
shall  we  do  now?"  asked  Raquel.  "Shall  I  drop 
from  the  window  and  run  away?  There  must  be 
some  one  who  will  aid  me." 

Ana  approached  the  closely  drawn  jalousies. 
She  put  her  long  nose  to  a  crack  and  peered  down. 
The  slight  movement  of  the  screen  was  seen  from 
the  outside. 

"It  is  you  that  need  not  look  out,  Anita  Maria," 
came  up  to  her  in  Joyal's  rasping  voice.  "This  is 
not  the  front  door." 

"He  has  been  quick  about  it,"  said  Ana.  "No 
matter,  sweet,  we  must  pack.  Some  one  must 
help  us.  When  the  Sefior  Silencio  gets  that 
devilish  message  he  must  do  something." 

"What  was  the  devilish  message,  Ana?"  asked 
Raquel. 

"Do  not  ask  me,  child;  just  hateful  words,  that 
is  all." 

Raquel  put  her  young  arms  round  Ana's  old  thin 
shoulders. 

"Promise  me  one  thing,  Ana,"  she  said. 

"Promise!  Who  am  /  to  make  promises,  sweet? 
All  that  I  can,  I  will.  That  you  must  know." 

"When  I  am  gone,  Ana"  —  Raquel  looked 
searchingly  at  Ana  and  repeated  the  words  sol- 

117 


SAN  ISIDRO 

emnly  —  "when  I  am  gone,  promise  that  you  will 
go  to  the  Sefior  Silencio.  Say  to  him — " 

"But  how  am  I  to  get  there,  sweet?  I  should 
have  to  wear  my  waist  that  I  keep  for  the  saints' 
days.  I — " 

"Get  there?  Do  you  suppose  if  you  asked  me  I 
would  not  find  a  way?  My  uncle  Escobeda  will  be 
gone.  Remember  he  will  be  gone,  Ana!  There 
will  be  no  one  to  watch  you,  and  you  talk  of 
clothes!  You  will  not  wear  them  out  in  one  after 
noon,  and  when  I  am  Senora" — Raquel  halted  in 
her  voluble  speech  and  blushed  crimson — "he,  my 
uncle,  would  be  glad  to  have  you  go  and  say  that 
he  has  taken  me  away.  Nothing  would  please  him 
better.  Now,  promise  me  that  when  I  am  gone 
you  will  go  to  the  Sefior  Silencio,  and  tell  him 
where  he  has  taken  me.  Tell  him  that  I  accept 
his  offer.  Tell  him  that  if  he  loves  me,  he  will 
find  a  way  to  save  me.  Tell  him  that  I  sent  him  a 
note  by  that  pretty  Agueda  from  San  Isidro — " 

"You  should  not  speak  to  such  as  she — " 

"She  seemed  sweet  and  good.  She  carried  my 
note,  Ana.  I  must  always  be  her  friend.  Tell 
him—" 

A  loud  thud  upon  the  door. 

Escobeda  had  stolen  up  softly,  and  was  chuck 
ling  to  himself  outside  in  the  passage. 

"Ana  has  my  permission  to  go  and  tell  him  all 
118 


SAN  ISIDRO 

about  how  you  love  him,  Muchacha.  That  will 
make  it  even  more  pleasant  for  me.  I  thank  you 
for  helping  me  carry  out  my  plans,  but  for  the 
present,  Ana  had  better  pack  your  things,  and 
quickly.  The  sun  is  getting  over  to  the  west, 
and  you  must  start  within  two  hours'  time." 

Raquel  threw  her  arms  round  Ana  and  strained 
her  to  her  childish  breast. 

"You  will  go,  dear  Ana,  you  promise  me,  do  you 
not?  You  will  go?" 

"I  will,"  said  the  weeping  Ana,  "even  if  I  must 
go  in  my  Sunday  shoes." 


119 


IX 

When  the  voluble  Rotiro  had  vanished  round 
the  end  of  the  counting-house,  Silencio  retired  to 
his  inner  sanctum  and  closed  and  locked  the  door. 
The  contrast  between  this  room  and  the  bare  front 
office  was  marked.  Here  cretonne  draped  the 
walls,  its  delicate  white  and  green  relieving  the 
plain  white  of  the  woodwork.  Coming  from 
the  outer  glare,  the  cool  coloring  was  more  than 
grateful  to  the  senses.  The  large  wicker  chairs 
with  which  the  room  was  furnished  were  painted 
white,  their  cushions  being  of  the  same  pale  green 
whose  color  pervaded  the  interior.  The  white 
tables,  with  their  green  silken  cloths,  the  white  desk, 
the  mirrors  with  white  enameled  frames,  the  white 
porcelain  lamps  with  green  shades,  all  of  the  same 
exquisite  tint,  made  the  sanctum  a  symphony  of 
delicate  color,  a  bower  of  grateful  shade.  Pull  one 
of  the  hangings  aside,  ever  so  little,  and  a  fortress 
stared  you  in  the  face — a  fortress  known  of,  at  the 
most,  to  but  two  persons  in  the  island. 

It  is  true  that  the  more  curious  of  the  peons  had 
wondered  somewhat  why  Don  Gil  had  brought 
down  from  the  es-States  those  large  sheets  of  iron 

120 


SAN  ISIDRO 

with  clamps  and  screws;  but  the  native  is  not 
inquisitive  as  a  rule,  and  certainly  not  for  long. 
All  seiiors  do  strange  things,  things  not  to  be 
accounted  for  by  any  known  rule  of  life,  and  the 
Sefior  Don  Gil  was  rich  enough  to  do  as  he  liked. 
What,  then,  was  it  to  a  hard-working  peon,  what  a 
grand  senor  like  the  Don  Gil  took  into  his  mahog 
any  house? 

The  man  who  had  come  down  in  the  steamer 
with  the  sheets  of  iron  had  remained  at  Palmacristi 
for  a  month  or  more.  He  had  brought  two  work 
men,  and  when  he  sailed  for  Nueva  Yorka  no  one 
but  the  owner  of  the  Casa  de  Caoba  and  the  old 
Guillermina  knew  that  the  inner  counting-house 
had  been  completely  sheathed  with  an  iron  lining, 
whose  advent  the  peons  had  forgotten. 

"This  is  my  bank,"  said  Don  Gil  to  Don  Juan 
Smit'. 

"It  may  become  a  fort  some  day,  who  knows?" 
answered  the  Don  Juan  Smit',  "if  those  rascally 
Spaniards  come  over  here  and  create  another  rum 
pus."  Strange  to  say,  Don  Gil  did  not  resent  this 
remark  about  the  nation  which  had  produced  his 
ancestors.  But,  then,  Don  Gil  was  a  revolutionist, 
and  had  fought  side  by  side  with  the  bravest  gen 
erals  of  the  ten  years'  Cuban  war. 

"It  is  a  very  secure  place  to  detain  a  willing  cap 
tive,"  smiled  Don  Gil. 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Well,  I  guess!"  assented  the  Senor  Don  Juan 
Smit',  with  a  very  knowing  wink  of  the  eye,  which 
proved  that  he  had  not  understood  his  employer's 
meaning  in  the  very  slightest. 

Old  Guillermina,  who  had  reared  Don  Gil's 
mother,  was  the  only  person  allowed  within  the 
counting-house. 

"A  very  fine  place  for  the  black  spiders  to  hide," 
remarked  Guillermina,  as  she  twitched  aside  the 
green  and  white  hangings,  and  exposed  the  iron 
sheathing.  "There  is  no  place  they  would  prefer  to 
this." 

When  Don  Gil  had  locked  the  door,  he  seated 
himself  and  took  Escobeda's  note  from  his  pocket. 
He  examined  the  flap  of  the  envelope;  it  was  badly 
soiled  and  creased.  He  was  morally  certain  that 
Rotiro  had  possessed  himself  of  the  contents  of  the 
letter.  He  had  told  Rotiro  that  peons  should  not 
think,  but  they  would  think,  semi-occasionally,  and 
more  than  that,  they  would  talk.  When  a  peon 
was  found  clever  enough  to  carry  a  message,  he 
also  possessed  the  undesirable  quality  of  wishing  to 
excite  curiosity  in  others,  and  to  make  them  feel 
what  a  great  man  he  was  to  be  trusted  with  the 
secrets  of  the  Senor.  By  evening  the  insolence  of 
Escobeda  would  be  the  common  property  of  every 
man,  woman,  and  child  on  the  estate,  and,  what 
Silencio  could  bear  least  of  all,  the  insulting  news 


SAN  ISIDRO 

as  to  the  ultimate  destination  of  Raquel  would  be 
gossiped  over  in  every  palm  hut  and  rancho  far  and 
near.  All  his  working  people  would  know  before 
to-morrow  the  message  which  had  been  brought  to 
him  by  Rotiro,  and  it  was  his  own  rum  that  would 
loosen  Rotiro's  tongue  and  aid  materially  in  his 
undoing.  His  face  grew  red  and  dark.  His  brow 
knotted  as  he  perused  the  vile  letter  for  the  fourth 
time.  Escobeda's  handwriting  was  strong,  his 
grammar  weak,  his  spelling  not  always  up  to  par. 
The  letter  was  written  in  Spanish,  into  which  some 
native  words  had  crept.  The  translation  ran: 

"To  THE  SENOR  DON  GIL  SILENCIO-Y-ESTRADA. 

"  Senor: — You  are  forbidden  to  set  foot  in  my  house.  You 
are  forbidden  to  try  to  see  or  speak  to  the  Senorita  Raquel.  I 
do  not  continue  the  farce  of  saying  my  niece;  she  is  not 
more  than  a  distant  relative  of  mine.  But  in  this  case,  might 
makes  right.  I  control  her  and  she  is  forever  lost  to  you.  You 
refused  me  the  trocha  farm  for  a  fair  price.  See  now,  if  it 
would  not  have  been  better  to  yield.  The  Sefiorita  Raquel 
starts  for  the  Port  of  Entry  this  afternoon.  She  sails  to-night 
for  the  government  town.  The  Governor  desires  her  services. 
Knowing  the  Governor  by  repute,  you  may  imagine  what  those 
services  are." 

Silencio  struck  the  senseless  sheet  with  his 
clenched  fist.  His  ring  tore  a  jagged  hole  in  the 
paper,  so  that  he  had  difficulty  in  smoothing  it  for 
re-perusal. 

"It  pays  me  better  to  sell  her  to  him  than  to  give  her  to 
you." 

123 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Wild  thoughts  flew  through  the  brain  of  Silencio. 
He  started  up,  and  had  almost  ordered  his  horse. 
He  was  rich.  He  would  offer  all,  everything  that 
he  possessed,  to  save  Raquel  from  such  a  fate,  but 
he  sadly  resumed  his  seat  after  a  moment  of  reflec 
tion.  Escobeda  hated  him,  there  had  been  a  feud 
between  the  families  since  the  old  Don  Gil  had 
caused  the  arrest  of  the  elder  Escobeda,  a  lawless 
character;  and  the  son  had  made  it  the  aim  of  his 
life  to  annoy  and  insult  the  family  of  Silencio. 
Here  was  a  screw  that  he  could  turn  round  and 
round  in  the  very  heart  of  his  enemy,  and  already 
the  screwing  process  had  begun.  Don  Gil  took  up 
the  mutilated  letter  and  read  to  the  end : 

"We  start  for  the  coast  this  afternoon.  Do  not  try  to  rescue 
her.  I  have  a  force  of  brave  men  who  will  protect  me  from 
any  number  that  you  may  bring.  We  have  colinos  and  esco- 
petes  in  plenty.  Your  case  is  hopeless.  You  dare  not  attack 
me  on  land;  you  cannot  attack  me  on  the  water." 

Don  Gil  dashed  the  paper  on  the  floor  and  ground 
savagely  beneath  his  heel  the  signature  "Rafael 
Escobeda." 

"It  is  true,"  he  said,  shaking  his  head.  "It  is 
true;  I  am  helpless!" 

With  a  perplexed  face  and  knitted  brow  he 
went  into  the  outer  room,  closed  the  entrance  door 
and  took  a  flat  bar  of  iron  from  its  resting-place 
against  the  wall.  This  he  fitted  into  the  hasps 

124 


SAN  ISIDRO 

at  each  side  of  the  door,  which  were  ready  to 
receive  it.  Then  he  returned  to  the  inner  room, 
and  secured  the  iron-sheathed  door  with  two  sim 
ilar  bars.  After  this  was  done,  he  looked  some 
what  ruefully  at  his  handiwork.  "The  cage  is 
secure,"  he  said,  "if  I  but  had  the  bird." 

Silencio  opened  the  door  which  connected  the 
office  with  the  main  part  of  the  house.  He  closed 
and  locked  it  behind  him,  and  proceeded  along 
a  passage  so  dark  that  no  light  crept  in  except 
through  the  narrow  slits  beneath  the  eaves.  When 
he  had  traversed  this  passage,  he  opened  a  further 
door  and  emerged  at  once  into  the  main  part  of  the 
house.  Here  everything  was  open,  attractive,  and 
alluring.  .  Here  spacious  apartments  gave  upon 
broad  verandas,  whose  flower  boxes  held  blooms 
rare  even  in  this  garden  spot  of  the  world.  Here 
were  beauty  and  colour  and  splendour  and  glowing 
life. 

Don  Gil  threw  himself  down  in  a  hammock  which 
stretched  across  a  shady  corner.  Through  the 
opening  between  the  pilotijos,  he  could  see  the 
wooded  heights  in  the  distance,  those  heights 
beyond  which  Troja  lay,  Troja,  which  held  his 
heart  and  soul.  What  to  do?  To-night  she  would 
set  sail  for  the  government  town  in  the  toils  of 
Escobeda,  her  self-confessed  betrayer  and  bar- 
terer — set  sail  for  that  hateful  place  where  her 

125 


SAN  ISIDRO 

worse  than  slavery  would  begin.  The  person  to 
whom  she  was  to  be  sold — none  the  less  sold  be 
cause  the  price  paid  did  not  appear  on  paper — was 
possessed  of  power  and  that  might  of  which  Esco- 
beda  had  spoken  in  his  letter — that  might  which 
makes  right.  He  could  give  countenance  to  specu 
lators  and  incorporators,  he  could  grant  concessions 
for  an  equivalent;  into  such  keeping  Escobeda, 
with  his  devil's  calculation,  was  planning  to  deliver 
her — his  Raquel,  his  little  sweetheart.  That  she 
loved  him  he  knew.  A  word  and  a  glance  are 
enough,  and  he  had  received  many  such.  A  note 
and  a  rose  at  the  last  festin,  where  she  had  been 
allowed  to  look  on  for  a  while  under  the  eye  of  her 
old  duenna!  A  pressure  of  her  hand  in  the  crowd, 
a  trembling  word  of  love  under  her  breath  in 
answer  to  his  fierce  and  fiery  ones! 

The  cause  for  love,  its  object  does  not  know 
nor  question.  The  fact  is  all  that  concerns  him, 
and  so  far  Silencio  was  secure.  And  here  was  this 
last  appeal  from  the  helpless  girl !  They  had  started 
by  this  time  perhaps.  Don  Gil  looked  at  the 
ancient  timepiece  which  had  descended  from  old 
Don  Oviedo.  Yes,  they  had  started.  It  was  now 
twenty  minutes  past  six;  they  needed  but  two 
hours  to  ride  to  the  Port  of  Entry.  The  steamer 
would  not  sail  until  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock. 
Very  shortly  Escobeda' s  party  would  cross  the 

126 


SAN  ISIDRO 

trocha,  which  at  that  point  was  a  public  highway. 
It  ran  through  the  Palmacristi  estate,  and  neared 
the  casa  on  the  south.  Could  he  not  rescue  her 
when  they  were  so  near?  There  were  not  three  men 
within  the  home  enclosure.  The  others  had  gone 
direct  to  their  huts  and  ranches  from  their  work  in 
the  fields.  He  could  not  collect  them  now,  and  if 
he  could,  of  what  use  a  skirmish  in  the  road? 
Escobeda  was  sure  to  ride  with  a  large  force,  and  a 
stray  shot  might  do  injury  to  Raquel  herself.  No, 
no!  Some  other  way  must  be  thought  of. 

Silencio  arose,  passed  quickly  through  the  casa 
and  entered  the  patio.  He  ran  up  the  stairs  which 
ascended  from  the  veranda  to  the  flat  roof  above. 
He  stood  upon  the  roof,  shading  his  eyes  with  his 
hand,  and  straining  his  vision  to  catch  the  first 
sight  of  Escobeda  and  his  party  of  cut-throats.  He 
was  none  too  early.  A  cloud  of  dust  on  the  near 
side  of  the  cacao  grove  told  him  this,  and  then  he 
heard  the  jingling  of  spurs  and  the  sound  of  voices. 
A  group  of  some  thirty  horsemen  swept  round  the 
curve  and  came  riding  into  full  view.  In  their  center 
rode  a  woman.  She  was  so  surrounded  that  by 
no  effort  of  hers  could  she  break  through  the  deter 
mined-looking  throng.  One  glance  at  those  cruel 
faces,  and  Silencio's  heart  sank  like  lead. 

The  woman  was  gazing  with  appealing  eyes  at 
the  Casa  de  Caoba.  Silencio  was  not  near  enough 

127 


SAN  ISIDRO 

to  distinguish  her  features,  but  her  attitude  was 
hopeless  and  appealing,  and  he  knew  that  it  was 
Raquel  the  moment  that  he  discovered  her. 

Suddenly  she  drew  a  handkerchief  from  her 
bosom  and  waved  it  above  her  head.  There  was 
something  despairing  and  pitiable  in  her  action. 
Silencio  whirled  his  handkerchief  wildly  in  the  air. 
He  was  beside  himself!  Escobeda  turned  and 
struck  the  girl,  who  dropped  her  signal  hand  and 
drooped  her  head  upon  her  breast. 

Silencio  put  his  hands  to  his  mouth  and  shouted  : 
"Do  not  fear;  I  will  save  you!"  He  shook  his 
clenched  hand  at  Escobeda.  "You  shall  pay  for 
that!  By  God  in  Heaven!  you  shall  pay  for  that!" 

Yes,  pay  for  it,  but  how?  How?  Oh,  God! 
how?  He  was  so  helpless.  No  one  to  aid  him,  no 
one  to  succour. 

At  this  defiance  of  Silencio' s  there  came  an  order 
to  halt.  The  men  faced  the  Casa  de  Caoba,  Esco 
beda  placed  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder,  but  as  he  fired, 
Raquel  quickly  reached  out  her  hand  and  dashed 
the  muzzle  downward.  A  crash  of  glass  below 
stairs  told  Silencio  where  the  shot  had  found 
entrance. 

"And  for  that  shot,  also,  you  shall  pay.  Aye, 
for  twenty  thousand  good  glass  windows. "  Glass 
windows  are  a  luxury  in  the  island. 

A  burst  of  derisive  laughter  and  a  scattering 
128 


SAN  ISIDRO 

flight  of  bullets  were  thrown  back  at  him  by  the 
motley  crew.  They  reined  their  horses  to  the  right, 
turned  a  corner,  and  were  lost  in  their  own  dust. 

Silencio  descended  the  stairs,  how  he  never  knew. 
He  ran  through  the  patio  and  the  main  rooms,  and 
out  on  to  the  veranda,  from  which  the  path  led 
toward  the  gate  of  the  enclosure.  He  was  beside 
himself.  He  seized  his  gun  from  the  rack;  he 
cocked  it  as  he  ran. 

"He  said  that  I  could  not  reach  him  upon  the 
water;  I  can  reach  him  upon  the  land.  Piombo, 
my  horse!  Do  not  wait  to  saddle  him,  bring  him 
at  once.  No,  I  cannot  reach  him  upon  the  water — " 

A  sound  of  footsteps.  A  head  bound  in  a  ragged 
cloth  appeared  above  the  flower  boxes  which  edged 
the  veranda,  and  pushed  its  way  between  the  leaves. 
A  body  followed,  and  then  a  man  ascended  slowly 
to  a  level  with  Don  Gil  Silencio.  Over  his  shoul 
der  was  slung  a  shotgun ;  in  his  leathern  belt,  an 
old  one  of  his  master's,  was  thrust  a  machete;  from 
his  hand  swung  a  lantern  with  white  glass  slides. 
This  man  was  stupid  but  kindly.  He  pattered 
across  the  veranda  with  bare  and  callous  feet,  and 
came  to  a  halt  within  a  few  paces  of  Don  Gil. 
There  he  stopped  and  leaned  against  the  jamb  of 
the  open  door. 

At  night  Andres  hung  a  lantern  upon  the  asta  at 
the  headland  yonder,  more  as  a  star  of  cheer  than 

129 


SAN   ISIDRO 

as  a  warning.  The  red  lantern  on  Los  Santos, 
some  miles  further  down  the  coast,  was  the  beacon 
for  and  the  warning  to  mariners.  The  ray  from  its 
one  red  sector  illumined  the  channel  until  the  morn 
ing  sun  came  again  to  light  the  way.  When  the 
white  pane  changed  the  ray  of  red  to  one  of  white, 
the  pilot  shouted,  "Hard  over."  With  a  wide  and 
foaming  curve,  the  vessel  swept  round  and  out  to 
sea,  thus  avoiding  the  sand  spit  of  Palmacristi. 

Silencio's  eyes  fell  upon  the  lantern  in  the  hand 
of  Andres,  and  in  that  moment  the  puzzle  of  the 
hour  was  solved.  So  suddenly  does  the  bread  of 
necessity  demand  the  rising  of  the  yeast  of  inven 
tion.  The  expression  of  Don  Gil's  face  had 
changed  in  a  moment  from  abject  gloom  to  radiant 
exultation. 

"Bien  venido,  Andres!  Bien  venido!" 
No  dearest  friend  could  have  been  greeted  with 
a  more  joyous  note  of  welcome.  Andres  raised  his 
eyes  in  astonishment  to  the  face  of  the  young 
Senor.  He  had  expected  to  meet  with  Guiller- 
mina's  reproaches  because  he  had  forgotten  to 
lower  the  lantern  from  the  asta  that  morning,  and 
had  left  it  burning  all  the  long  day,  so  that  now  it 
must  be  refilled.  Here  was  a  very  different  recep 
tion.  He  had  been  thinking  over  his  excuses.  He 
had  intended  to  say  at  once  how  ill  El  Rey  had  been 
all  night,  and  how  he  had  forgotten  everything  but 

130 


SAN  ISIDRO 

the  child;  and  here,  instead  of  the  scolding  of  the 
servant,  he  was  greeted  with  the  smiles  of  the  mas 
ter.  Truly,  this  was  a  strange  world ;  one  never 
knew  what  to  expect. 

"I  come  for  oil  for  the  lantern,  Don  Gil.  It  is 
a  very  good  farol  de  senales,  but  it  is  a  glutton !  It 
is  never  satisfied!  It  eats,  and  eats!" 

"Like  the  rest  of  you."  Don  Gil  laughed  aloud. 
Andres  gazed  at  him  with  astonishment.  "That 
blessed  glutton!  Let  us  feed  it,  Andres!  Give  it 
plenty  to  eat  to-night,  of  all  nights.  I  will  hoist  it 
upon  the  headland  myself  to-night."  At  Andres's 
still  greater  look  of  astonishment,  "Yes,  yes,  leave 
it  to  me.  I  will  hoist  the  blessed  lantern  myself 
to-night  upon  my  headland." 

"The  Senor  must  not  trouble  himself.  It  is  a 
dull,  dark  night !  The  Senor  will  find  the  sendica 
rough  and  hard  to  climb." 

"What!  that  little  path?  Have  not  I  played 
there  as  a  child?  Raced  over  it  as  a  boy?  I  could 
go  there  blindfold.  How  is  the  little  king, 
Andres?"  Andres's  face  fell. 

"He  is  not  so  well,  Senor.  That  is  why  I  forgot 
the  lantern.  He  was  awake  in  the  night  talking 
to  her.  I  have  left  him  for  barely  an  hour  to  fill 
the  lantern  and  return  it  again  to  the  asta.  He 
talks  to  her  at  night.  Sometimes  I  think  she  has 
returned.  He  begged  me  to  leave  the  door 


SAN  ISIDRO 

unlocked;  he  thinks  she  may  come  when  I  am 
gone."  Andres  turned  away  his  heavy  face,  and 
brushed  his  sleeve  across  his  eyes. 

"You  shall  go  home  early  to-night,  Andres;  as 
I  said,  I  will  hoist  the  lantern." 

The  dull  face  of  Andres  lighted  up  with  a  tender 
smile,  a  smile  which  glorified  its  homely  linea 
ments — that  smile  which  had  always  been  ready  to 
appear  at  the  bidding  of  El  Rey.  Poor  little  El 
Rey,  who  had  never  ceased  to  call,  in  all  his  waking 
hours  for  Roseta,  Roseta  who  had  found  the  charms 
of  Dondy  Jeem,  with  his  tight-rope  and  his  red 
trunk-hose  and  his  spangles  and  his  delightful  wan 
dering  life,  much  more  to  be  desired  than  the  palm- 
board  hut  down  on  the  edge  of  the  river,  with  El 
Rey  to  care  for  all  day,  and  Andres  to  attend  when 
he  returned  at  night  from  the  sucker  planting  or 
banana  cutting. 

"How  is  the  sea,  Andres?" 

"It  is  quiet,  Sefior,  not  a  ripple." 

"And  we  shall  have  no  moon?" 

"As  the  Sefior  says,  not  for  some  weeks  past 
have  we  had  a  moon." 

Don  Gil  laughed.  He  could  laugh  now,  loud 
and  long.  His  heart  was  almost  light.  What  bet 
ter  tool  and  confidant  could  he  procure  than  a  peon 
who  knew  so  little  of  times  and  seasons  as  Andres? 

"And  it  is  low  tide  at  ten  o'clock  to-night?" 
132 


SAN   ISIDRO 

"As  the  Sefior  says." 

Had  Don  Gil  asked,  "Is  the  sea  ink?"  Andres 
would  have  replied,  "As  the  Sefior  says." 

"At  about  what  time  is  the  red  lantern  lighted 
on  Los  Santos?" 

"At  about  six  o'clock,  Sefior.  I  heard  old  Gremo 
say  that  he  lights  it  each  evening  at  six  o'clock." 

"He  does  not  live  near  it  now?" 

"As  the  Sefior  says.  The  old  casa  fell  quite  to 
pieces  in  the  last  hurricane,  and  now  Gremo  lives 
at  the  Romando  cannuca." 

"He  must  start  early  from  the  conuco?" 

"As  the  Sefior  says.  At  half  after  five.  It  is  a 
long  way  to  carry  a  ladder  —  there  and  back. 
Gremo  is  afraid  of  the  ghosts  who  infest  the  mom- 
poja  patch.  If  one  but  thrusts  his  head  at  you, 
you  are  lost.  Marianna  Romando  says  that  Gremo 
is  not  much  of  a  man,  but  far  superior  to  Garcito 
Romando.  The  few  pesos  that  he  gets  for  lighting 
the  lantern  keep  the  game  cock  in  food." 

"And  no  one  can  tamper  with  the  light,  I  sup 
pose?" 

"As  the  Sefior  says.  The  good  God  forbid  !  The 
cords  by  which  it  is  lowered  hang  so  high  that  no 
one  can  reach  them — not  even  Natalio,  who,  as  all 
know,  is  a  giant." 

"And  you  could  not  get  that  ladder,  Andres?" 

"As  the  Sefior  says,  when  Gremo  carries  it  a  mile 
133 


SAN  ISIDRO 

away,  and  puts  it  inside  the  enclosure.  He  is  a 
good  shot,  though  so  old.  There  is  only  one  bet 
ter  in  all  the  district.  Besides,  there  are  ghosts 
between  the  asta  and  the  cannuca. " 

Don  Gil  stood  for  a  moment  lost  in  thought. 

"I  suppose  El  Rey  needs  you  at  home,  Andres. 
I  should  not  keep — " 

"That  is  quite  true;  I  do,  very  much,  Senor." 

The  thin  little  voice  came  from  behind  the  giant 
ceiba  round  which  the  circular  end  of  the  veranda 
had  been  built. 

"You  here,  El  Rey?" 

A  slight,  childish  figure  emerged  slowly  from 
behind  the  giant  trunk  and  leaned  against  its  cor 
rugated  bark. 

"El  Rey  becomes  weary  staying  down  there  in 
the  palm  hut,  Senor.  There  is  nothing  to  do  but 
watch  the  pajara  bobo,  and  the  parrots,  and  listen 
to  river,  going,  going,  going!  Always  going!  Has 
Roseta  been  here,  Senor?" 

Don  Gil  shook  his  head.  He  gazed  sadly  at  the 
child. 

"When  do  you  think  she  will  come,  Senor?" 

"I  know  not,  little  one;  perhaps  to-morrow.' 

The  boy  raised  his  hand  and  smoothed  down  his 
thin  hair.  The  hand  trembled  like  that  of  an  old 
man.  His  cheek  was  sunken,  his  lips  colourless. 
He  lifted  his  large  eyes  to  Don  Gil's  face. 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"They  always  tell  me  that.     Mariana,  mafiana; 
always  mafiana!" 

He  sighed  patiently,  looking  at  the  Sefior,  as  if 
the  great  gentleman  could  help  him  in  his  trouble. 
Andres  turned  away  his  head.  He  gazed  across 
the  valley  toward  the  hills  beyond  which  lay  Troja. 
That  was  where  they  had  gone  to  see  Dondy  Jeem, 
he  and  his  pretty  Roseta — Roseta,  who  had  tossed 
her  head  and  shaken  the  gold  hoops  in  her  ears 
when  Dondy  Jeem  had  kissed  his  hand  to  the  spec 
tators.  He  had  turned  always  to  the  seats  where 
Roseta  and  Andres,  stupid  Andres — he  knew  that 
now — sat.  Then  Roseta  had  given  El  Rey  to  the 
ever-willing  arms  of  Andres,  and  fixed  her  eyes  on 
Dondy  Jeem  and  watched  his  graceful  poise,  the 
white  satin  shoes  descending  so  easily  and  securely 
upon  the  swaying  rope,  the  long  pole  held  so 
lightly  in  the  strong  hands.  It  had  been  before 
those  days  that  Roseta  used  to  call  the  child  her 
king.  Poor  El  Rey!  He  looked  a  sorry  enough 
little  king  to-day,  a  dethroned  little  king,  with  his 
pinched  face  and  trembling  fingers  and  wistful 
eyes,  searching  the  world  in  vain  for  the  kingdom 
which  had  been  wrested  from  him. 

"How  did  you  get  out  of  the  rancho,  El  Rey?" 
"That  Sefiorita  from  El  Cuco,  she  let  me  out." 
"You  should  be  in  bed,  muchachito." 
"But  it  is  lonely,  Sefior,  in  that  bed.     That  is 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Roseta's  bed.  I  turn  that  way  and  this  way.  It 
is  hot.  I  look  for  Roseta.  She  is  not  there.  A 
man  look  in  at  the  door  once;  he  frighten  me. 
To-day  a  hairy  beast  came.  He  push  back  the 
shutter.  When  he  was  gone,  I  ran.  I  stumble, 
I  fell  over  bajucos.  I  caught  my  foot  in  a  root. 
That  would  not  matter  if  I  could  find  Roseta.  I 
would  rather  be  here  with  the  Senor  than  at  the 
river. ' ' 

El  Rey  pushed  a  confiding  little  hand  into  Don 
Gil's  palm.  Don  Gil  sat  down  and  took  the  child 
between  his  knees. 

"Andres,  do  you  shoot  as  well  as  of  old?" 

"I  shoot  fairly  well,  Senor." 

The  Senor  laughed.  He  had  seen  Andres  at  only 
the  last  fair,  less  than  a  year  ago,  shoot,  at  eighty 
yards,  a  Mexican  dollar  from  between  the  fingers  of 
Dondy  Jeem.  The  scene  recurred  to  Andres. 
"Had  it  been  but  his  heart!"  he  muttered,  dully. 
And  then,  with  a  look  at  Don  Gil,  "There  are  few 
who  cannot  do  one  thing  well,  Senor." 

"You  are  far  too  modest,  Andres." 

Don  Gil  glanced  again  at  the  lantern  which 
Andres  had  set  down  upon  the  veranda  rail.  When 
he  had  first  caught  sight  of  that  lantern  in  Andres's 
hand  his  difficulty  had  vanished  like  the  morning 
mist.  With  a  flash  of  thought,  rather  of  many 
thoughts  in  one  train,  he  had  seen  the  proceedings 

136 


SAN  ISIDRO 

of  the  evening  to  come  mapped  out  like  a  plan  of 
campaign. 

"Will  you  do  something  for  me,  Andres?" 

"The  good  God  knows;  anything  that  I  can, 
Senor.  But  what  I  should  prefer  would  be  a  night 
when  the  moon  shines.  He  could  not  then  see  me 
behind  the  old  ironwood,  and  I  could  distinguish 
him  better  when  there  is  a  little  light.  Is  it  the 
Senor  E'cobeda,  Senor?" 

Don  Gil  laughed  again.  He  put  El  Rey  gently 
from  him,  and  arose.  He  walked  to  the  corner  of 
the  veranda  and  back  again.  Andres  took  El  Rey 
tenderly  up  in  his  arms,  the  child  laid  his  hot  head 
on  Andres's  shoulder. 

"When  will  Roseta  come?"  he  whispered.  With 
the  unreason  and  trustful  selfishness  of  childhood, 
he  did  not  see  that  if  his  heart  was  breaking,  the 
heart  of  Andres  had  already  broken. 

"No,  Andres;  it  is  not  Escobeda.  I  do  not  hire 
assassins,  even  for  such  a  villain  as  he.  But  I  need 
a  servant  as  faithful  and  as  dumb  as  if  that  were 
my  custom.  I  want  something  done  at  once, 
Andres,  and  I  truly  believe  that  you  are  the  only 
one  upon  all  the  colonia  whom  I  can  trust.  Come 
in  here  with  me.  No!  Set  the  child  down;  he 
will  listen  and  repeat." 

"El  Rey  will  not  listen  at  nothing,  Senor,"  said 
the  child.  He  clung  tightly  to  Andres's  neck. 

'37 


SAN   ISIDRO 

"Come  in,  then,  both  of  you." 

Andres,  with  El  Rey  in  his  arms,  followed  Don 
Gil  across  the  large  living-room.  Don  Gil  turned 
as  he  unlocked  the  door  at  the  end  of  the  passage. 

"I  have  something  to  say  to  you,"  he  said, 
"which  must  not  be  overheard." 

Andres,  the  pioneer  of  his  race,  followed  the 
Senor  into  the  spring-like  privacy  of  the  sanctum. 

"Now  don't  worry  your  brain,  Andres.  Listen 
to  what  I  shall  ask  of  you,  and  go  and  do  it.  You 
know  it  has  always  been  my  theory  that  a  peon 
should  not  try  to  think,  and  why?  Simply  because 
he  has  no  brain,  Andres." 

"As  the  Senor  says,"  assented  Andres. 


'38 


X 

When  Andres  issued  from  the  counting-house  of 
Palmacristi  he  was  examining  critically  the  trigger 
of  a  gun.  That  fine  Winchester  it  was  which  had 
been  the  wonder  and  delight  of  the  natives  since 
the  Sefior  Don  Juan  Smit'  had  brought  it  down 
from  the  es-States.  When  the  Sefior  Silencio  had 
asked  the  Senor  Don  Juan  Smit'  if  the  gun  would 
shoot  straight,  the  Senor  Don  Juan  Smit'  had 
laughed  softly,  and  had  answered,  "Well,  I  guess!" 
and  the  Sefior  Don  Juan  Smit'  had  not  exagger 
ated. 
•"And  El  Rey?" 

"El  Rey  will  go  with  Andres,  Senor,"  answered 
the  thin  voice. 

"The  muchachito  will  do  as  he  chooses,  Senor." 
The  child  was  following  close  upon  his  father's 
steps. 

"It  is  too  far  for  him,  Andres.  Stay  with  me, 
El  Rey." 

The  child  looked  wistfully  up  at  Andres. 

"Andres  will  carry  El  Rey.  Perhaps  we  shall 
find  Roseta  at  the  place  where  Andres  goes  to 
shoot." 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"I  will  carry  him,  Senor.  His  weight  is  nothing. 
Dear  God!  nothing!" 

Andres  swung  the  child  up  to  his  hip,  where  he 
sat  astride,  securely  held  by  Andres's  strong  arm, 
and  descended  the  veranda  steps. 

"Come  and  tell  me  when  it  is  done,"  Silencio 
called  after  them. 

"Si,  Senor.     Buen'  noch',  Senor." 

"Buen'  noch',  Senor,"  echoed  El  Key's  piping 
voice. 

"Here,  Andres."  From  his  height  on  the 
veranda  floor  Don  Gil  tossed  a  key  to  Andres. 
"Open  the  boat-house,  and  run  the  boat  out  upon 
the  southern  ways.  The  southern  ways,  do  you 
hear?  Those  nearest  the  Port  of  Entry." 

Andres  looked  up  wonderingly. 

"Ah!  you  are  trying  to  think.  Do  not  try.  It 
is  useless.  Obey!  that  is  all." 

Blindly  faithful,  Andres,  having  caught  the  key, 
turned  away  with  an  "As  the  Senor  says,"  and  dis 
appeared  down  the  camino  which  led  toward  the 
ocean  cliff. 

When  he  reached  the  headland  of  Palmacristi  he 
suddenly  diverged  from  the  cliff  path  and  ran  hur 
riedly  down  the  bank.  The  boat-house  stood  upon 
a  safe  eminence  in  the  middle  of  the  sand  spit,  with 
ways  running  down  to  the  water  on  either  side. 
Andres  set  El  Rey  down  in  the  warm  sand,  and 

140 


SAN  ISIDRO 

unlocked  the  boat-house  door.  He  then  pushed  the 
boat  to  the  end  of  the  ways.  The  tide  was  still 
falling;  it  was  nearly  low  water.  He  laid  the  oars 
ready;  then  he  arose  and  looked  southward  along 
the  coast.  Ah !  There  shone  the  signal  upon  Los 
Santos  headland.  Old  Gremo  was  at  his  post, 
then.  Andres  raised  his  shoulders  to  his  ears, 
turned  the  palms  of  his  hands  outward,  and  said: 

"Thy  labour  is  of  no  use  to-night,  Gremo."  He 
then  took  El  Rey  up  from  his  nest  in  the  warm 
sand,  swung  the  child  again  to  his  hip,  and 
remounting  the  bank,  proceeded  on  his  way. 

So  soon  as  Andres  had  departed  Don  Gil  entered 
the  comidor,  and  going  to  the  table,  struck  a  bell 
hanging  above  it.  Jorge  Toleto  lounged  to  the 
doorway,  against  the  side  of  which  he  propped 
himself. 

"Tell  Piomba  to  go  over  to  the  bodega  at  once, 
and  ask  the  padre  to  dine  with  me  this  evening. 
Piomba  has  little  time.  Tell  him  to  be  off  at 
once." 

Jorge  Toleto  shuffled  away,  with  the  remnant  of 
what  in  his  youth  had  been  a  respectful  bow. 
When  he  was  gone  Don  Gil  crossed  the  living-room, 
passed  through  two  long  passages,  and  entered  a 
door  at  the  end  of  the  second.  Here  was  a  sort  of 
general  storeroom.  When  he  emerged  he  carried 
in  one  hand  a  lantern,  in  the  other  he  held  a  flat 

141 


SAN  ISIDRO 

parcel.  "A  new  lantern  will  burn  more  brightly," 
he  said  to  himself. 

It  was  growing  dusk  now.  Don  Gil  descended 
the  veranda  stair  and  followed  in  the  footsteps  of 
Andres.  As  he  crossed  the  rough  grass  beyond 
the  veranda,  old  Guillermina  espied  him  from  a 
further  window.  She  was  engaged  in  opening  the 
Senor's  bed  for  the  night,  searching  among  the 
snowy  linen  to  make  sure,  before  tucking  the  rose- 
coloured  netting  beneath  the  mattress,  that  no  black 
spider  had  hidden  itself  away,  to  prove  later  an 
unwelcome  bedfellow  to  her  adored  Don  Gil.  For 
your  tarantula  will  ensconce  itself  in  unexpected 
corners  at  times,  and  is  at  the  best  not  quite  a 
desirable  sleepmate. 

"And  for  the  love  of  the  saints,  where  is  our 
Don  Gil  departing  to  at  this  hour  of  the  night? 
The  dinner  nearly  ready,  old  Otivo  watching  the 
san  coch'  to  see  that  it  does  not  burn !  The  table 
laid,  everything  fine  enough  for  a  meal  for  the  holy 
apostles!  Aie!  aie!  for  our  Don  Gil  is  one  who 
will  have  it  as  fine  for  himself  as  for  the  alcade, 
when — pouff!  off  he  goes,  and  we  breaking  our 
hearts  while  we  wait.  Ay  de  mi!  ay  de  mi!" 

The  Sefior,  unconscious  that  he  had  been  ob 
served,  passed  hurriedly  along  the  camino,  and 
shortly  struck  into  the  little  path  or  sendica  which 
Andres  had  traversed  but  a  short  time  before.  As 

142 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Don  Gil  glanced  over  the  cliff,  he  saw  that  the  sea 
was  still ;  almost  calm.  Even  the  usual  ocean  swell 
seemed  but  a  wavelet,  as  it  reached  weakly  up  the 
beach,  expending  itself  in  a  tiny  whirl  of  pebbles 
and  foam  whose  force  was  nil,  and  lapsed  in  a 
retreat  more  exhausted  than  its  oncoming. 

A  walk  of  ten  minutes  brought  Silencio  to  the 
headland  which  bounded  his  property  on  the  south. 
It  was  growing  so  dark  that  he  could  hardly  distin 
guish  the  staff  upon  which  it  had  been  Andres's  cus 
tom  to  hang  each  night  his  lanterna  de  senales,  to 
send  forth  its  white  beam  of  cheer  across  the  sea. 
When,  after  passing  the  red  light  of  Los  Santos 
Head,  the  pilot  steered  for  the  open  ocean,  the 
remark  to  the  captain  was  always  the  same  stereo 
typed  phrase: 

"Ah!  There  is  the  Palmacristi  lantern  bidding 
us  Godspeed." 

It  is  a  sad  thing  when  the  habit  of  years  must  be 
changed.  When  a  custom,  fixed  as  the  laws  of  the 
Medes,  must  be  broken,  chaos  is  often  the  result. 
Thus  thought  Silencio,  as  he  reached  the  foot  of 
the  asta.  It  is,  however,  not  necessary  to  say  that 
his  hand  was  not  retarded  by  the  thought.  He 
groped  for  the  cords  which  dangled  from  the  top, 
and  found  them.  He  lighted  a  fusee  and  searched 
for  and  found  the  red  slide,  which  he  had  laid  on 
the  ground.  This  was  all  that  he  wanted.  By 

»43 


SAN  ISIDRO 

feeling,  almost  entirely,  he  removed  the  white  pane 
from  the  lantern  and  replaced  it  by  the  red  one, 
which  he  took  from  its  wrapping.  He  then  lighted 
the  lantern,  passed  the  cords  through  the  metal 
hasps,  and  drew  the  signal  to  the  top  of  the  staff. 
The  cords  were  so  arranged  as  to  permit  of  no  sway 
ing  of  the  lantern.  The  light  was  fixed,  and  now 
from  the  top  of  the  staff  a  red  beam  shone  south 
ward. 

When  Don  Gil  mounted  the  steps  of  his  veranda 
at  Palmacristi  a  tall,  thin  figure  arose  to  greet  him. 

"Ah,  padre,  I  am  glad  that  Piomba  succeeded  in 
finding  you.  My  dinners  are  lonely  ones." 

The  padre  laughed  in  the  cracked  voice  of  an  old 
man. 

' '  Better  is  the  stalled  ox  where  love  is,  than  a 
dinner  of  herbs  and  poverty  therewith." 

"Just  enough  learning  to  misquote,"  quoted 
Don  Gil,  laughing  also,  but  in  a  preoccupied  manner. 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  better  to  say  'just  enough 
appetite.'  My  dinners  are  bad  enough,  since 
Plumero  left  me." 

"Better  to  have  him  leave  you,  even  if  under  a 
guard  of  soldiers,  padre,  than  to  let  him  put  you 
where  you  can  eat  no  more  dinners.  What  was 
that,  padre?  Did  you  hear  anything?" 

"Nothing,  my  boy,  but  Jorge  Toleto  calling  us 
to  dinner.  The  willing  ear,  you  know." 

144 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Don  Gil  ushered  the  old  man  into  the  comidor. 
His  tall  figure  was  bent  and  thin.  The  shabby 
black  coat,  whose  seams  shone  with  a  generation's 
wear,  flapped  its  tails  about  the  legs  of  his  scant 
white  trousers.  The  good  priest's  figure  was  one 
in  which  absurdity  and  dignity  were  inextricably 
combined.  The  padre  showed  his  years.  He  had 
never  quite  recovered  from  the  attack  made  upon 
him  by  his  trusted  servant  Plumero,  the  Good — 
Plumero,  who  now  languished  in  the  cep'  over  at 
Saltona. 

The  savory  meal  was  ended.  The  night  was 
warm  and  close. 

"Let  us  sit  upon  the  veranda  and  enjoy  our 
cigarillos,  padre." 

Silencio  seemed  unlike  himself.  He  was  ner 
vous,  ill  at  ease.  He  had  no  sooner  seated  himself 
than  he  arose  and  paced  the  long  veranda,  the 
spark  of  his  cigarette,  only,  showing  his  where 
abouts.  He  looked  often  out  to  sea,  and  often  in 
the  direction  of  the  lanterna  de  senates,  whose  ray 
was  hidden  from  sight  by  the  near  hill. 

"Do  you  hear  anything,  padre?  Anything  like 
a  cry  or  a — ' ' 

"No,  nothing!  my  boy.  And  as  I  was  saying, 
there  was  my  poor  fighting  cock  lying  in  the  corner, 
worse  maltreated  than  he  had  ever  been  in  any 
garito,  and  when  I  awoke — " 

145 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"That  was  certainly  a  gun.  You  are  not  rising 
to  leave,  padre;  why,  your  cigarillo  is  not  even 
half  finished.  I  expect  you  to  stay  the  night.  No, 
no!  I  will  take  no  denial.  Guillermina,  prepare 
the  western  room  for  the  Padre  Martinez." 

"You  know  my  weaknesses,  muchacho  mio. 
Very  well,  then,  I  will."  But  Silencio  was  down 
the  steps  and  some  feet  away  in  the  darkness, 
straining  his  ear  for  the  sound  which  he  knew  must 
come.  He  took  out  his  watch,  and  by  the  light  of 
the  veranda  lantern  noted  the  time.  "Early  yet," 
he  muttered  under  his  breath. 

"Pardon,  my  son,  you  spoke  to — " 

"I  was  but  saying  that  the  moon  is  very  late 
to — hark!" 

"You  are  restless,  Gil." 

"It  is  this  muggy  weather.  There !  you  certainly 
heard  something?" 

"Nothing,  Gil;  nothing  but  the  nightingale  yon 
der." 

A  cuculla  flew  into  the  padre's  face.  He 
brushed  it  gently  away.  It  returned  to  wander  over 
the  long  wisps  of  grey  hair  which  straggled  over 
the  collar  of  the  hot,  dignified  coat.  The  padre 
took  the  cuculla  in  his  fingers,  and  placed  it  gently 
upon  the  leaves  of  the  bougainvillia  vine. 

"I  certainly  think  that  the  sweetest  songsters  I 
ever  heard  are  the  nightingales  in  this  enclosure." 

146 


SAN  ISIDRO 

A  footstep  sounded  on  the  graveled  pathway 
which  ran  close  to  the  veranda. 

"Buen'  noch',  Senor." 

Silencio  started  nervously. 

"Ah!  It  is  you,  Andres?  Buenas  noches." 
Silencio  raised  his  hand  with  a  warning  gesture. 
Andres's  stolid  face  expressed  as  stolid  acqui 
escence. 

"Buen'  noch',  Senor.  We  did  not  find  her  at 
the  asta  de  lanterna,  Senor. ' ' 

"Andres,  take  the  child  home;  he  is  weary." 

The  tone  was  curt,  unlike  the  kindly  Don  Gil. 
It  was  as  if  he  had  laid  his  hands  on  Andres's 
shoulders  and  were  pushing  him  along. 

"I  should  like  to  remain  here,  Senor.  Perhaps 
she  may  come  to-night.  Who  knows?  Perhaps 
the  good  God  will  send  her.  He  knows  that  I — 
cannot — bear — it,  I  can  not  bear — "  The  child's 
voice  broke  in  a  sob. 

Silencio' s  kindly  nature  was  touched.  "Take 
him  round  to  Guillermina,  Andres,  and  get  dinner; 
both  of  you." 

The  two  disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

Then  Piombo  brought  a  flaring  Eastern  lamp,  at 
which  Don  Gil  relighted  his  often  extinguished 
cigarette. 

"How  still  the  night!  How  far  a  sound  would 
carry  on  a  night  like  this."  The  padre  had  but 


SAN  ISIDRO 

just  uttered  these  words  when  a  long,  booming 
sound  struck  upon  the  listening  as  well  as  the 
unexpectant  ear. 

Silencio  bounded  from  his  chair.  He  caught  up 
a  cloak  which  was  lying  conveniently  ready. 

"A  steamer  ashore!"  he  shouted.  The  old 
padre  struggled  to  his  feet.  "Do  not  come.  Go 
round  to  the  quarters.  Send  the  men  to  help.  It 
must  be  at  the  sand  spit.  Follow  me  to  the  head 
land,"  and  he  was  gone  in  the  darkness.  The 
padre  wondered  somewhat  at  Silencio's  suspecting 
at  once  the  locality  of  the  stranded  steamer,  if  that 
were  the  cause  of  the  gun  of  distress.  As  he  won 
dered,  it  spoke  again,  and  gathering  his  wits 
together,  he  hastened  round  to  the  quarters. 

Silencio  bounded  along  the  camino  and  up  the 
cliff  pathway.  His  feet  seemed  winged.  The 
familiar  local  knowledge  of  childhood  stood  him  in 
good  stead  at  this  crucial  moment.  He  reached 
the  staff.  It  was  short  work  to  release  the  cord 
and  lower  the  lantern,  extinguish  the  light,  replace 
the  red  slide  with  a  white  one,  and  hoist  the  dark 
ened  signal  in  place  again.  Then  he  turned  and 
ran  quickly  down  the  sandy  bank. 

"Now  the  light  has  simply  gone  out,"  he  said 
to  himself  as  he  ran.  His  boat  was  where  Andres 
had  left  it,  the  rising  water  making  it  just  awash. 
A  glance  seaward  showed  to  Silencio  a  steamer's 

148 


SAN  ISIDRO 

lights.  There  came  to  him  across  the  water 
bewildered  shouts,  the  sounds  of  running  feet,  and 
evidences  of  confusion.  He  pushed  his  boat  into 
the  water,  and  bent  to  the  oars.  The  steamer  was, 
at  the  most,  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
distant.  He  pulled  with  desperation.  He  heard 
the  sound  of  the  foam  as  the  propeller  turned  over, 
and  he  feared  that  with  every  revolution  the  vessel 
would  back  off  into  deep  water.  When  he  rowed 
alongside  he  was  not  noticed  in  the  dark  and  con 
fusion  of  the  moment.  He  held  his  long  painter 
in  his  hand,  and  as  he  climbed  up  over  some  con 
venient  projections  of  the  little  vessel,  fastened  it 
securely. 

He  drew  himself  up  hurriedly  to  the  taffrail,  and 
slid  down  to  deck,  mixing  with  the  crew.  He 
looked  about  now  for  the  bewitching  cause  of  the 
disaster.  Some  dark  forms  were  standing  by  the 
companion  door,  and  going  close  he  discovered  her 
whom  he  sought.  He  laid  his  hand  on  her  arm  to 
draw  her  away.  At  first  she  started  fearfully,  but 
even  in  darkness  love  is  not  blind,  and  she  hur 
riedly  withdrew  with  him  to  the  side  of  the 
vessel. 

"Stand  here  for  a  moment,  Raquel,"  he  whis 
pered.  "I  am  afraid  that  I  cannot  get  you  over 
the  side  without  aid." 

She  stood  where  he  placed  her,  and  he  ran  for- 
149 


SAN  ISIDRO 

ward  with  much  bustle  and  noise,  seeking  the  cap 
tain,  calling  him  by  name. 

"Ah!  the  saints  preserve  us!  Is  that  you, 
Sefior  Silencio?  Where  are  we,  Senor?  There  is 
no  light  anywhere  to  be  seen.  Where  are  we,  for 
the  love  of  God?" 

"I  am  afraid  that  you  have  run  aground  on  my 
sand  spit,  Senor  Capitan." 

"On  your  sand  spit,  Senor!  Where,  then,  is 
Los  Santos  Head?" 

"Some  miles  further  down  the  coast,  Sefior  Cap 
itan." 

"Ay  de  mi!  I  knew  that  pilot  was  no  good. 
This  is  the  first  light  that  we  have  seen,  and  now 
that  has  gone  out.  This  was  a  red  light,  Sefior." 

' '  Red  light  ?     You  are  dreaming,  Senor  Capitan. ' ' 

The  captain  took  this  rejoinder  in  its  literal  mean 
ing. 

"It  is  true  that  I  was  dreaming,  Senor.  I  beg  of 
you  not  to  mention  it  at  the  port.  I  have  suffered 
with  a  fearful  toothache  all  day.  The  pilot  said 
that  he  was  competent;  we  have  never  had  any 
trouble."  Silencio  cut  him  short. 

"I  am  here  to  offer  my  services,  Sefior  Capitan. 
Can  I  be  of  any  use?  You  may  have  a  storm  from 
the  southward.  To-day  has  been  a  weather-breeder. 
I  think  you  have  women  on  board.  I  could  take 
them — " 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Gracias!  gracias!  my  kind  Senor  Silencio.  That 
will  help  me  above  all  things." 

"And  if  the  wind  does  not  rise,  Senor  Capitan, 
the  tide  will.  Keep  your  engines  backing,  and 
there  will  be  no  harm  done.  I  will  take  whom  I 
can,  and  send  for  the  others."  Which  proves  that 
love,  if  not  blind,  may,  however,  be  untruthful 
upon  occasion. 

How  Silencio  got  Raquel  over  the  side  he  never 
knew.  Some  one  aided  him  at  the  captain's  order, 
but  he  realized  at  last  the  blessed  fact  that  she  was 
there  beside  him,  and  that  they  were  gliding  from 
the  vessel's  hull  as  fast  as  he  could  impel  the  boat. 

"Some  miscreant  has  done  this,."  roared  the  cap 
tain  above  the  noise,  as  he  leant  over  the  side  and 
strained  his  eyes  after  Silencio.  "I  beg  you,  Senor, 
to  look  for  him,  and  when  you  have  caught  him, 
hand  him  over  to  me." 

"I  shall  remember  your  words,  Senor  Capitan." 

"I  will  have  him  shot  in  the  market-place  of  the 
Port  of  Entry,  and  send  for  all  the  natives  to 
see." 

"I  will  remember  your  words,  Senor  Capitan, 
you  may  be  sure  of  that,  when  I  catch  him — " 
But  the  last  words  of  Don  Gil  were  lost  in  the 
renewed  efforts  of  the  engineer  to  back  the  steamer 
from  the  sand  spit. 

No  words  passed  at  first  between  Raquel  and  her 


SAN  ISIDRO 

rescuer.  If  love  is  not  always  blind  and  sometimes 
not  truthful,  he  is  apt  to  be  silent.  Raquel  needed 
no  explanation.  As  the  boat  glided  through  the 
darkness,  Silencio  dropped  the  oars.  He  took  her 
hands  in  his.  His  lips  were  pressed  to  hers.  What 
question  should  she  ask?  What  more  did  she  crave 
to  know?  Here  were  life  and  liberty  and  love,  in 
exchange  for  slavery,  pollution,  and  worse  than 
death. 

When  he  lifted  her  slight  form  from  the  boat,  he 
did  not  release  her  at  once,  but  held  her  in  his 
arms  for  a  moment.  He  could  hardly  believe  that 
his  daring  act  had  met  with  the  one  result  for  which 
he  had  hoped. 

"Your  uncle,  where  is  he?" 

"Escobeda?  In  the  cabin,  ill.  There  is  a  slight 
swell.  He  is  always  ill.  I  had  not  noticed  it,  the 
swell,  on  board  the  steamer.  But  he  is  not  my 
uncle,  Senor. " 

"I  have  proof  of  it  in  his  own  written  words, 
dear  heart.  But  uncle  or  not,  he  shall  never  sepa 
rate  us  now." 

"When  can  they  get  the  steamer  off  the  sand 
spit,  Senor?  I  heard  you  say  that  the  water  is 
rising. ' ' 

"They  will  float  off  by  twelve  o'clock  to-night, 
Sweetheart.  I  hope  they  will  forget  you.  But 
whether  they  do  or  not,  they  shall  not  have  you 

152 


SAN  ISIDRO 

ever  again,  beloved.  No,  never  again!  You  are 
mine  now." 

"He  has  none  of  those  men  with  him,"  said 
Raquel.  "They  went  back  to  Troja.  But,  Senor, 
he  will  come  back  from  the  capital,  and  then — 
Senor — then — " 

"We  will  reckon  with  that  question  when  it 
arises,  dear  one.  At  present,  let  us  not  think  of 
Escobeda  and  his  crew." 

Half-way  up  the  sandy  slope  they  met  the  tall 
form  of  the  padre  descending.  Silencio  said  shortly 
what  he  chose.  Explanations  were  not  in  order, 
for,  whatever  had  happened,  and  whatever  might 
happen,  this  young  girl  could  not  remain  unmar 
ried  in  the  house  of  her  lover.  "You  must  marry 
us  this  evening,  padre ;  and  we  will  go  to  the  little 
church  at  Haldez  to-morrow,"  said  Don  Gil,  "if 
that  will  salve  your  conscience." 

"My  conscience  needs  no  salving,  my  son. 
Yours  rather.  Perhaps,  if  you  have  anything  to 
confess,  I  had  better  receive  your  confession 
before — " 

"Ah,  padre,  what  a  tempter  you  are!  So  holy 
a  man,  too!  No,  let  them  do  their  worst.  I  have 
nothing  to  confess.  I  have  won  my  stake ;  now  let 
them  come  on."  But  he  regarded  the  beautiful 
girl  at  his  side  with  some  uneasiness  as  he  spoke. 

"You  must  let  me  give  you  a  chime  of  bells, 
'53 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Padre,"  said  Raquel.  The  moon  was  struggling 
forth,  and  Silencio  noticed  her  shy  look  as  she  raised 
her  eyes  to  his.  "That  is,  if — if  the  Senor  will 
allow. 

"Bribery,  bribery!"  said  the  padre  in  his  thin 
old  voice. 

Silencio  put  his  arm  round  Raquel,  and  they 
stepped  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  With  her  head 
pressed  close  to  his  shoulder,  together  they 
watched  the  dancing  lights  upon  the  steamer,  and 
listened  to  the  hoarse  orders  and  shouts  which, 
mingled  with  the  foaming  spray  under  the  vessel's 
stern,  came  to  them  across  the  water.  They  had 
forgotten  the  padre,  for  love  adds  another  to  her 
many  bad  qualities,  that  of  ingratitude.  The 
padre  had  just  promised  to  perform  for  them  the 
greatest  service  that  it  was  his  to  give,  and  they 
had  become  oblivious  of  him,  and  of  everything  in 
the  world  but  each  other.  They  stood  so,  and 
watched  the  steamer  for  a  little  space,  and  then 
Silencio  gathered  the  girl  to  his  breast. 

"Come  home!  dear  Heart,  come  home!"  he  whis 
pered,  and  she  followed  him  down  the  path,  her 
hand  in  his. 

As  they  neared  the  Casa  de  Caoba  they  saw  that 
a  man  was  sitting  upon  the  veranda  steps.  He  had 
a  child  in  his  arms.  The  man  was  sleeping  heavily, 
the  slumber  of  the  labouring  peon.  As  Raquel  came 

J54 


SAN   ISIDRO 

up  the  steps  of  her  new  home,  the  child  raised  his 
large  eyes  wistfully  to  hers. 

"When  El  Rey  saw  it  was  a  Sefiora,  El  Rey 
thought  it  might  be  Roseta.  When  will  Roseta 
come,  Senor?  When?  When?" 

Raquel  stooped  and  lifted  the  boy  tenderly  from 
Andres's  nerveless  arms.  She  asked  no  question. 
With  the  instinct  of  the  motherhood  lying  dormant 
within  her,  she  knew  that  here  was  a  motherless 
child,  and  that  it  suffered.  At  that  moment  she 
loved  all  the  world.  She  pressed  the  boy  close  to 
her  heart. 

"Stay  with  me,  little  one;  I  will  be  Roseta  to 
you." 

El  Rey  raised  his  eyes  to  the  sweet,  dark  face 
above  him. 

"Roseta  was  not  gran',  Sefiora,"  he  said — he 
scanned  her  face  critically — "but  she  was  more 
pretty  than  the  Sefiora.  The  Sefiora  will  pardon 
me  if  I  say  that  Roseta's  gown  was  much  more 
handsome  than  the  one  the  Sefiora  wear." 

At  the  word  "sefiora"  the  young  girl  stooped 
and  laid  her  lips  upon  the  child's  head. 

"It  was  a  gown  of  red.  It  had  green  spots — 
oh,  such  little  green  spots,  small,  small  spots.  El 
Rey  used  to  count  them.  There  were  some  little 
half-spots  up  there  on  the  shoulder.  Roseta  said 
it  was  where  the  sewing  came.  Roseta  did  not 


SAN  ISIDRO 

have  shiny  drops  in  her  ears.  The  Senora's  drops 
are  like  the  bits  of  glass  that  Andres  shot  from  the 
top  of  the  asta  to-night.  He  had  a  gun,  the 
gun  of  the  Sefior. " 

Raquel  looked  inquiringly  at  Silencio. 

"It  is  true,"  he  admitted. 

"At  Los  Santos?" 

"At  Los  Santos." 

"They  came  down  in  showers,  Sefior,  like  little 
red  stars." 

"You  are  a  poet,  El  Rey." 

"Rather,"  said  Silencio,  smiling  down  at  the 
child,  where  he  stood  leaning  against  Raquel, 
"El  Rey  is  a  little  story-teller.  He  promised  not 
to  say  a  word — ' ' 

"It  is  a  Senora  who  may  know  everything,  all 
things.  She  has  the  good  eyes." 

"You  are  right,  El  Rey." 

"The  rings  in  Roseta's  ears  were  round.  They 
were  big  and  round.  She  used  to  shake  them  when 
we  went  to  the  circus,  so!"  The  tired  head 
shook  slowly.  Andres  stirred  uneasily.  He 
opened  his  dull,  sad  eyes  and  looked  at  El  Rey.  He 
had  felt  the  touch  on  the  wound  even  in  his  sleep. 

"I  often  put  my  finger  round  them,  so!  Often 
and  often  I  did." 

Raquel  took  the  little  fingers  between  her  own. 
She  put  them  between  her  lips  and  bit  them  play- 

156 


SAN  ISIDRO 

fully.  Her  white  teeth  made  tiny  indentations  in 
the  tender  skin*  El  Rey  smiled  faintly,  a  promise, 
Raquel  hoped,  of  a  brighter  day  of  forgetfulness  to 
come. 

Silencio  stood  looking  on.  He  loved  to  see  her 
so,  the  child  leaning  against  her  knee.  Across  the 
water  came  the  sounds  of  shouts  and  hurried  orders 
which  disturbed  no  one.  Raquel  stroked  the 
thin,  straight  hair  over  and  over.  She  ran  her  soft 
fingers  down  the  angular  little  face  and  neck.  Tiny 
tremors  of  affection  ran  gently  through  the  child's 
veins.  El  Rey  laid  his  head  upon  the  knee  to 
which  she  drew  him.  His  wasted  hand  shook  as 
he  laid  it  upon  hers. 

"You  are  good,"  said  the  child.  "You  are 
beautiful,  you  are  kind,  kind  to  El  Rey."  His 
tone  was  patient  and  old  and  full  of  monotony. 
"But  oh !  the  Sefiora  will  pardon  me?  You  are  not 
Roseta." 

There  was  one  other  person  at  the  wedding  of 
Don  Gil  and  Raquel,  besides  the  padre,  who  united 
them,  and  old  Guillermina  and  Andres. 

"Who  will  give  you  away?"  asked  Silencio. 

"I  myself,"  said  she.  Silencio  laughed.  "That 
cannot  be,"  he  said.  As  he  spoke  there  was  a 
humble  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  salon.  Raquel 
looked  up  and  bounded  from  her  seat. 


SAN  ISIDRO 

''Oh,  you  dear  old  thing!"  she  said.  She  was 
fondling  and  kissing  the  bony  creature,  who  stood 
aghast  before  her,  who  in  turn  was  crying  and  beg 
ging  the  saints  to  have  mercy  upon  her. 

"And  for  the  good  God's  sake,  tell  me  how  you 
got  here,  Senorita,  and  will  the  Sefior  allow  me  to 
sit  down?  My  Sunday  shoes  have  killed  me, 
nearly.  Is  there  anything  that  I  could  wear  in 
stead — "  Ana  stopped  abashed  at  the  sight  of  so 
fine  a  man  as  Silencio. 

"How  did  the  Sefior  rescue  you,  my  Sweet?  Is 
the  Sefior  Escobeda  dead,  then?"  Ana  looked 
about  her  as  if  she  expected  to  see  the  bodies  of 
Escobeda  and  his  followers  over  there  on  the  edge 
of  the  trocha. 

"I  have  been  shipwrecked,  Ana,"  said  Raquel, 
smiling  down  upon  the  old  woman. 

"Ship — the  holy  saints  pres — and  you  are  not 
even  wet — and  where,  then,  is  the  Sefior  Escobe — " 

"You  seem  very  much  worried  about  the  Sefior 
Escobeda,  Ana,"  said  Don  Gil,  who  at  once  made 
Raquel's  friend  his  own.  "Do  you  not  hear  him 
off  there  now,  cursing  as  usual?" 

Ana  listened.  She  heard  distant  cries,  and  the 
sound  of  the  water  as  it  churned  underneath  the 
propeller  blades. 

Ana  shrank  to  the  size  of  an  ant  as  she  answered, 
her  face  blanching:  "Indeed!  yes,  I  do  hear  the 

158 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Senor,  Senor.  I  have  heard  the  Sefior  like  that, 
Sefior,  many  a  time.  And  does  the  Senor  think 
that  the  Senor  can  come  here  to  the  casa  of  Palma- 
cristi?" 

"Not  for  some  time,  I  think,  Ana,"  said  Don 
Gil,  smiling,  though  a  faint  wrinkle  was  discernible 
on  his  brow. 

"It  always  seems  to  me  as  if  the  Senor  Esco- 
beda  could  get  anywhere,  Senor,"  said  Ana,  simply. 
"He  has  only  to  wish,  the  Sefior,  and  the  thing  is 
done." 

"That  would  be  bad  for  us,"  said  Silencio. 
"Ana,  will  you  give  this  lady  to  me?" 

"I?  And  what  does  the  Senor  think  that  I  have 
to  do  with  it?" 

"Is  the  Senor  Escobeda  a  nearer  relative  than 
you  are,  Ana?" 

"Indeed,  no!  Senor,"  said  Ana.  "I  was  her 
mother's  own  cousin  once  removed,  while  the 
Senor  Es — " 

"Very  well!"  said  Silencio,  "that  is  all  that  I 
want.  Come!  padre,  let  us  prepare  for  the  wed- 
ding." 


159 


XI 

It  was  two  or  three  days  after  this  that  Uncle 
Adan  came  in  toward  sunset  with  a  fine  piece  of 
news. 

"The  Senor  knows  the  hacienda  of  Palmacristi?" 
began  Uncle  Adan,  more  as  a  preface  than  as  a 
question. 

Don  Beltran  laughed.  He  had  known  the 
hacienda  of  Palmacristi  as  long  as  he  had  known 
anything;  he  had  known  the  old  Don  Gil  well,  who, 
indeed,  had  been  a  distant  relative  of  his  own,  and 
he  had  seen  the  young  Don  Gil  grow  up  to  man 
hood.  Beltran  was  ten  years  older  than  Silencio. 
He  had  often  envied  the  young  fellow  his  indepen 
dence  and  freedom  in  the  way  of  money.  He 
thought  him  hot-headed  and  likely  to  get  into 
trouble  some  day,  and  now,  from  Uncle  Adan's 
account,  that  day  had  arrived.  He  did  not  think 
it  necessary  to  say  this ;  Adan  knew  it  as  well  as  he. 

"What  has  he  been  doing  now?"  asked  Don 
Beltran. 

"Only  getting  married,  Senor,"  answered  the  old 
capitas. 

160 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"I  did  not  dream  that  he  would  do  anything  so 
sensible,"  said  Don  Beltran,  with  a  glance  at 
Agueda. 

Agueda  bent  her  eyes  low  and  blushed.  How 
dear  it  was  of  him  to  think  of  her  first  of  all,  and 
always  in  that  connection.  But  what  was  the  haste? 
He  loved  her,  of  that  she  was  sure.  He  would 
always  love  her.  When  he  was  ready,  she  would 
be,  but  it  was  not  a  pressing  matter. 

"The  Senor  E'cobeda  does  not  think  it  so  sen 
sible,  Senor  Don  Beltran." 

"Aaaah!  it  was  the  little  Sefiorita  Raquel, 
then.  Wise  man,  wise  man!" — Agueda  looked  up 
suddenly — "to  marry  the  girl  of  his  choice.  But 
how  did  he  get  her,  Adan?  It  was  only  three 
weeks  ago  that  he  wrote  me  a  line,  begging  that  I 
would  aid  him  in  an  effort  to  carry  her  off." 

"And  the  Senor  answered — ?" 

"I  told  him  that  I  would  come  whenever  he 
called  upon  me.  I  have  no  liking  for  Escobeda. 
He  will  not  sell  me  the  lowlands  between  the  river 
and  the  sea.  He  is  an  unpleasant  neighbour,  he — " 

"He  is  a  devil,"  said  Adan. 

"I  think  that  it  must  be  I  who  made  that  mar 
riage  hasten  as  it  did,"  said  Agueda,  smilingly. 
"The  Senor  remembers  the  day  last  week  when  I 
came  home  and  found  the  Senor  with  the  letter 
from  the  Senor  Don  Noe  saying  that  he  would 

161 


SAN  ISIDRO 

make  a  visit  at  Palmacristi  with  the  little  child?  It 
was  on  that  day  that  I  carried  the  note  from  the 
Senorita  to  Don  Gil." 

"And  that  was  the  very  day  of  the  marriage," 
broke  in  Adan,  willing  enough  to  interrupt  his 
niece,  though  not  his  master.  "It  was  the  very 
day.  There  was  a  shipwreck,  and  somehow  the 
young  Sefior  got  the  Senorita  from  the  vessel. 
Como  no,  hombre!  When  one  wants  a  thing  he 
must  have  it  if  he  is  gran'  Senor.  The  padre  was 
there,  and  he  married  them,  and  now  they  have  to 
reckon  with  the  Sefior  E'cobeda." 

"Where  was  the  precious  rascal  all  this  time?" 
asked  Don  Beltran. 

1  "Some  say  that  he  was  on  board  the  ship,  Sefior, 
and  that  he  was  carried  on  to  the  government  town. 
They  say  he  knew  nothing  of  the  grounding  of  the 
vessel;  he  was  always  sick  with  the  sea,  that  Sefior 
E'cobeda.  Caramba!  /  should  like  to  see  him 
sick  with  the  sea,  or  with  the  bite  of  a  black  spider, 
or  with  anything  else  that  would  kill  him — that 
Senor  E'cobeda!" 

"I  cannot  see  what  he  can  do,  Adan,"  said  Don 
Beltran.  ' '  If  she  is  married,  he  cannot  change  that. 

Adan  nodded,  and  scratched  his  ankle  with  his 
machete. 

"Married  fast  enough,  Sefior  Don  Beltran.  First 
by  the  padre  at  the  hacienda,  and  then  at  the  lit- 

162 


SAN  ISIDRO 

tie  church  at  Haldez.     I  cannot  see  what  rights  he 
has  over  the  young  Senora  now." 

"None  at  all,"  said  Don  Beltran.  "Does  the 
lad  want  me  over  there — the  Senor  Silencio?" 

"I  have  heard  nothing  from  him,  Senor  Don 
Beltran.  Juan  Rotiro  told  me  many  things,  but 
the  Senor  knows  what  Juan  Rotiro  is  when  the  pink 
rum  gets  into  his  judgment.  He  says  that  the 
Senor  E'cobeda  will  soon  return,  and  that  there 
will  be  fighting,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  the  Senor 
Don  Gil  can  hold  his  own.  Como  no!  when  he 
has  the  law  on  his  side." 

"Law,"  Beltran  laughed.  "Do  you  suppose 
rascals  like  Escobeda  care  for  law?  Besides,  he  has 
the  Governor  on  his  side.  He  pays  large  sums  for 
so-called  concessions;  that  I  know,  and  the  Gover 
nor  winks  both  eyes  very  fast  at  anything  that 
Escobeda  chooses  to  do.  Did  you  hear  anything 
about  his  getting  that  band  from  Troja  together?" 

"Caramba!  yes,  Senor  Don  Beltran!  It  was 
spoken  under  the  breath,  and  just  from  one  peon  to 
the  other.  They  did  not  know  much." 

Don  Beltran  arose.  "I  think  I  will  ride  over  to 
Palmacristi,  Agueda;  get  me  my  spur.  Would  you 
like  to  come,  child?" 

Agueda  shook  her  head,  and  ran  into  the  sitting- 
room  to  hide  her  confusion.  Her  face  was  a  dull 
crimson  as  she  took  the  spur  down  from  the  nail. 

163 


SAN  ISIDRO 

' '  The  espuela  is  dusty ;  shall  I  brighten  it,  Sefior ?' ' 

"Call  old  Juana.  I  will  not  have  you  soil  your 
pretty  hands,  child,  on  my  spur.  The  grey, 
Pablo,"  he  shouted  toward  the  rambling  structure 
that  was  dignified  by  the  name  of  stable. 

"And  why  not  come  with  me,  Agueda?" 

Agueda  bent  over  her  stitching. 

"I  am  much  too  busy  to-day,  Sefior,"  she  said. 
"Far  too  busy,"  she  thought,  "to  go  over  there, 
not  sure  of  my  welcome."  Things  had  changed  at 
Palmacristi,  and  remembering  the  slight  inflection 
in  Silencio's  tone  when  last  she  saw  him,  she  knew 
that  henceforth  Raquel  was  quite  out  of  her  reach. 

"I  was  good  enough  to  take  her  note  for  her 
when  she  was  Senorita, "  thought  Agueda,  "but  I 
am  not  good  enough  to  visit  her  now  that  she  is 
Sefiora." 

Agueda's  sensitive  and  delicate  nature  had 
evolved  this  feeling  out  of  an  almost  imperceptible 
glance,  a  faint,  evanescent  colouring  of  tone  in  the 
inflection  of  Silencio's  voice,  but  it  told  her,  as 
memory  called  it  up,  that  the  front  door  of  Palma 
cristi  would  henceforth  be  closed  to  her.  She 
would  not  hamper  Beltran.  He  was  thoughtless, 
and  might  suffer  more  from  a  slight  to  her  than 
from  one  to  himself;  or  else  he  might  become  angry 
and  break  his  pleasant  friendship  with  Silencio,  a 
friendship  which  had  existed  between  the  families 

164 


SAN  ISIDRO 

for  generations.  No,  she  had  better  remain  at 
home.  Again,  when  Beltran  asked  her,  she  shook 
her  head  and  smiled,  though  a  drop  of  water  lay 
near  the  surface  of  her  eye,  but  Beltran  did  not  see, 
and  rode  away  gaily,  waving  his  hand. 

Arrived  upon  the  height  where  stood  the  Casa  de 
Caoba,  he  rode  the  grey  down  to  the  bank,  because 
on  the  calm  sea  he  had  discovered  Silencio  and 
Raquel,  in  the  little  skiff  in  which  Raquel  had  been 
rescued.  He  heard  Silencio  say,  "There  is  Beltran; 
let  us  go  in  and  see  him." 

"I  do  not  know  that  Don  Beltran,"  said  Raquel. 
"Does  not  the  girl  Agueda  live  there,  at  San 
Isidro?" 

"Yes;  do  you  know  Agueda?"  As  Silencio 
spoke  he  waved  his  hand  to  the  horseman  on  the 
bank. 

"Bien  venido,"  he  shouted.  And  then  to  Raquel, 
"Where  did  you  see  the  girl  Agueda?" 

"I  have  often  seen  her,"  said  Raquel.  "She  is 
very  handsome.  She  looks  like  a  young  boy. 
She  is  really  no  darker  than  I  am.  Have  you  for 
gotten  that  she  brought  my  note  to  you  that 
day?" 

"No,"  said  Silencio;  "I  have  not  forgotten  it. 
She  has  perhaps  more  good  Spanish  blood  in  her 
veins  than  either  of  us,"  continued  he,  as  he  bent 
to  the  oars. 

165 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Such  things  are  very  sad,"  said  Raquel.  "She 
is  so  above  her  station.  I  should  like  to  have  her 
come  here  and  live  with  us." 

"That  would  not  do  at  all,  Raquel,"  returned 
Silencio,  gravely. 

"Is  there  anything  wrong  with  her?"  asked 
Raquel,  wonderingly. 

"N — no,  not  that  I  know  of,  but  she  is  not  of 
your  station." 

"And  yet  you  say  that  she  has  better  ancestry 
than  either  you  or  I,"  argued  Raquel,  as  the  boat 
grounded.  "I  am  sure  her  uncle  is  a  great  deal 
more  respectable  than  mine." 

Silencio  waved  his  hand  to  Beltran.  "We  were 
looking  to  see  if  there  was  any  sign  of  the  yacht," 
he  called.  "I  sent  her  round  to  Lambrozo  to  be 
repaired.  We  may  need  her  now  any  day.  Oh !  I 
quite  forgot  you  do  not  know  my  wife,  Beltran. 
I  must  introduce  you." 

Raquel  bowed  and  walked  onward  to  order 
refreshments  for  the  visitor. 

"Let  me  congratulate  you,"  said  Beltran,  when 
Silencio  had  thrown  the  painter  to  Andres,  who 
was  standing  near  and  had  scrambled  up  the  bank. 
"I  was  surprised  by  your  very  charming  news." 

"Hardly  more  than  I  was  myself." 

"How  did  you  manage,  Gil?" 

"The  gods  were  with  me,"  answered  Silencio, 

166 


SAN  ISIDRO 

laughing,  though  Beltran  noticed  that  his  brow 
clouded  over  almost  immediately.  His  laughter 
sounded  false.  "It  is  true  that  I  have  what  I 
wished,  Beltran,"  he  continued — "the  dearest  bless 
ing  that  any  man,  were  he  prince  or  noble,  could 
ask."  ("She  is  not  half  so  beautiful  as  my  Ague- 
da,"  thought  Beltran,  while  nodding  acquiescence.) 
"I  have  her,  she  is  mine;  but — there  is  Escobeda 
still  to  be  reckoned  with." 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  Beltran. 

"I  wish  he  were  in  hell,"  said  Silencio,  fiercely. 

"You  are  not  singular  in  that,  but  the  result  is 
not  always  the  offspring  of  the  desire.  It  would 
indeed  be  a  blessing  to  send  him  there,  but  unfor 
tunately,  my  boy,  there  is  law  for  him  in  this  land, 
though  very  little  of  it  when  it  comes  to  the  wrongs 
that  you  and  I  suffer.  The  question  is,  where  is 
he,  and  when  do  you  expect  him  here?" 

"He  went  on  to  the  government  town  with  the 
steamer." 

Beltran  threw  his  leg  over  the  saddle  and 
dropped  to  the  ground,  walking  beside  his  young 
friend.  He  heard  all  that  there  was  to  tell. 

"He  was  very  ill  when  the  steamer  ran  on  the 
sand  spit  that  night."  Silencio  looked  narrowly  at 
his  friend.  He  wished  to  see  if  his  share  in  the 
decoying  of  the  steamer  had  been  noised  abroad, 
Beltran  listened  without  a  flicker  of  the  eyelash. 

167 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"The  doctor  had  given  him  something  strong — a 
new  thing  down  here,  called,  I  believe,  chloral." 

"Como  no!"  burst  forth  Beltran,  "if  they  only 
gave  him  enough." 

"They  gave  him  enough  for  my  purpose, "said 
Silencio.  "He  was  utterly  stupid.  Was  I  going 
to  awake  him  and  ask  permission  to  run  away  with 
his  niece?  Caramba,  Beltran!  I  should  think  not! 
He  was  stupid,  I  imagine,  all  the  way  to  the  gov 
ernment  town.  When  he  called  for  the  bird  whose 
wings  he  thought  he  had  clipped,  behold,  the  little 
thing  had  flown,  and  with  me,  the  dreaded  enemy." 

Don  Beltran  laughed  long  and  heartily. 

"You  are  a  clever  boy,  Gil;  but  how  about  the 
future?  As  you  say,  you  have  that  still  to  reckon 
with." 

The  darkening  of  Silencio' s  face  recalled  to  Bel 
tran  that  antiquated  simile  of  the  sweeping  of  a 
cloud  across  the  brightness  of  the  sun.  But  not  all 
old  things  have  lost  their  uses. 

"I  know  that,"  said  Silencio;  "that  is  the  worst 
of  it.  I  have  taken  Her  from  him  to  protect  her, 
and  now — and  now — if — I — should  fail — =-' ' 

"I  rode  over  to-day  for  that  very  thing,  Gil,  to 
ask  if  I  could  help.  I  will  come  over  with  all  my 
people  if  you  say  so,  whenever  you  send  for  me. 
My  uncle,  Don  Noe  Legaspi,  comes  within  a  day 
or  so,  to  stay  with  me  at  San  Isidro.  He  brings 

168 


SAN  ISIDRO 

his  little  child,  a  motherless  little  thing,  with  him, 
but  I  can  come  all  the  same.  I  think  that  it  was 
never  said  of  my  house  that  we  deserted  a  friend  or 
a  kinsman  in  trouble." 

"I  see  what  you  are  afraid  of,"  said  Silencio. 
"You  think  he  will  attack  me." 

"I  do,"  answered  Beltran;  "but  we  can  stand 
him  off,  as  the  Yankees  say.  You  have  the  right 
to  shoot  if  he  attacks  you,  but  I  hope  that  it  will 
be  my  bullet  that  takes  him  off,  the  double-dyed 
scoundrel!" 

"You  will  take  some  refreshment,  Beltran?" 

"No,  it  is  late;  my  breakfast  is  waiting.  A'  Dios, 
Gil,  a'  Dios." 

As  they  were  about  to  part,  Silencio  called  after 
his  friend : 

"I  will  send  you  word  as  soon  as  I  receive 
the  news  myself.  You  will  come  at  once,  eh, 
Beltran?" 

Don  Beltran  paused  in  mounting  the  grey,  and 
turned  his  head  to  look  at  his  friend.  Silencio's 
fingers  were  nervously  opening  and  closing  around 
one  of  the  fence  palings. 

"For  myself  I  should  not  care;  that  you  know, 
Beltran ;  but  for  her,  it  would  kill  me  to  have  her 
fall  into  his  hands  again.  It  would  be  death  to  me 
to  lose  her.  She  will  die  if  she  thinks  that  she  can 
be  taken  from  me,  and  by  that  villain.  Do  you 

169 


SAN  ISIDRO 

know  what  they  meant  to  do  with  her,  Beltran? 
They  meant — they  meant — " 

Silencio's  voice  sank  to  a  whisper.  His  face  had 
become  white,  his  lips  bloodless.  His  eyes  seemed 
to  sink  back  in  his  head  and  emit  sparks  of  fire. 
In  the  compression  of  the  mouth  Beltran  saw  the 
determination  of  certain  death  for  Escobeda  should 
he  come  within  range  of  Silencio's  weapon. 

Beltran  was  in  the  saddle  now.  He  turned  and 
surveyed  his  friend  with  some  anxiety., 

"Be  careful,  Gil,"  he  said;  "don't  come  within 
reach  of  the  villain.  Discretion  is  much  the  better 
part  in  this  matter.  Keep  yourself  under  cover. 
They  will  pick  you  off,  those  rascals.  Send  for  me 
the  night  before  you  know  that  he  is  coming,  and 
I  will  ride  over  with  ten  of  my  men.  We  can  gar 
rison  at  your  house?" 

"I  shall  make  ready  for  you,"  said  Silencio. 
"My  only  fear  is  that  I  shall  not  have  warning 
enough." 


170 


XII 

Beltran  rode  down  to  the  coast  to  meet  his  young 
uncle  and  the  child.  He  started  early  in  the  morn 
ing,  riding  the  black.  The  groom  led  the  roan  for 
Uncle  Noe's  use,  Pablo  rode  the  spotted  bull,  and 
those  peons  who  could  be  spared  from  the  cacao 
planting  walked  over  the  two  miles  to  the  boat  land 
ing,  to  be  ready  to  carry  the  luggage  that  the  strange 
Senor  and  the  little  girl  would  bring. 

As  Dulgado's  fin-keel  neared  the  shore,  Beltran 
could  not  distinguish  the  occupants,  for  the  sail  hid 
them  from  view;  but  when  the  boat  rounded  to 
alongside  the  company's  landing,  and  a  sprightly 
old  gentleman  got  out  and  turned  to  assist  a  young 
girl  to  climb  up  to  the  flooring  of  the  wharf,  Bel 
tran  discovered  that  Time  had  not  broken  his  rule  by 
standing  still.  On  the  contrary,  he  had  broken  his 
record  by  outstripping  in  the  race  all  nature's  win 
ners,  for  the  young  uncle  had  become  a  thin  little 
old  man,  and  the  child  a  charming  girl  in  a  very 
pronounced  stage  of  young  ladyhood. 

"I  should  have  known  that  my  cousin  could  not 
be  a  little  child,"  thought  Beltran,  as  he  removed 


SAN  ISIDRO 

his  old  panama,  wishing  that  he  had  worn  the  new 
one.  His  dress  was  careless,  if  picturesque,  and  he 
regretted  that  he  had  paid  so  little  attention  to  it. 

Notwithstanding  his  somewhat  rough  appear 
ance,  Beltran  raised  the  perfumed  mass  of  ruffles 
and  lace  in  his  strong  arms.  He  seated  the  girl  in 
the  chair,  fastened  firmly  to  the  straw  aparejo  on 
the  back  of  the  great  bull.  At  Agueda's  sugges 
tion,  he  had  provided  a  safe  and  comfortable  seat 
for  the  little  one,  to  whose  coming  Agueda  was 
looking  forward  with  such  unalloyed  pleasure. 

The  girl  filled  it  no  more  completely  than  Bel- 
tran's  vision  of  her  younger  self  would  have  done, 
though  her  billowy  laces  overlapped  the  high  arms 
of  her  chair.  Her  feet,  scarce  larger  than  those  of  a 
child,  rested  upon  the  broad,  safe  footboard  which 
Beltran  had  swung  at  the  side  of  the  straw  saddle. 
Her  delicate  face  was  framed  in  masses  of  fair 
hair — pale  hair,  with  glints  here  and  there  like 
spun  glass. 

Beltran  could  hardly  see  her  eyes,  so  shaded  was 
her  face  by  the  broad  hat,  weighted  down  by  its 
wealth  of  vari-colored  roses.  To  many  a  Northern 
man,  to  whom  style  in  a  woman  is  a  desideratum, 
Felisa  would  have  looked  like  a  garden-escape. 
She  had  a  redundant  sort  of  prettiness,  but  Beltran 
was  not  critical.  What  if  her  eyes  were  small,  her 
nose  the  veriest  tilted  tip,  her  nostrils  and  mouth 

172 


SAN  ISIDRO 

large?  The  fluffy  hair  overhung  the  dark  eyebrows, 
the  red  lips  parted  to  show  white  little  squirrel 
teeth,  the  delicate  shell-like  bloom  on  cheek  and 
chin  was  adorable.  It  brought  to  Beltran's  mem 
ory  the  old  farm  in  Vermont  where  he  had  passed 
some  summers  as  a  lad,  and  the  peach  trees  in  the 
orchard.  His  environment  had  not  provided  him 
with  a  strictly  critical  taste.  How  fair  she  was! 
What  a  contrast  to  all  the  women  to  whom  he  had 
been  accustomed !  There  was  nothing  like  her  in 
that  swarthy  land  of  dingy  beauties.  Her  light  and 
airy  apparel  was  a  revelation.  Unconsciously  Bel- 
tran  compared  it  with  the  plain,  straight  skirts  and 
blouse  waists  which  he  saw  daily,  and  to  its  sudden 
and  undeniable  advantage.  He  was  expecting  to 
greet  a  little  child,  and  all  at  once  there  appeared 
upon  his  near  horizon  a  goddess  full-blown.  He 
had  seen  nothing  in  his  experience  by  which  he 
could  gauge  her.  She  passed  as  the  purest  of  coin 
in  this  land  of  debased  currency. 

Her  father,  Uncle  Noe\  bestrode  the  roan  which 
Eduardo  Juan  had  brought  over  for  him.  When 
Don  Noe  was  seated,  Eduardo  Juan  gave  him  the 
bridle,  and  took  his  own  place  among  the  carriers 
of  the  luggage,  which  was  greater  in  quantity  than 
Don  Beltran  had  expected.  Eduardo  Juan  disap 
peared  with  a  sulky  scowl  in  answer  to  Pablo's  con 
tented  grin,  which  said,  "I  have  only  to  walk  home, 


SAN  ISIDRO 

guide  the  bull,  and  see  that  the  Sefiorita  does  not 
slip,  while  you — " 

Pablo  waited  with  patient  servility,  rope  in  hand, 
until  the  Sefiorita  was  safely  seated  in  her  chair. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  sprightly  conversation 
among  the  Senores.  There  was  more  tightening  of 
girths  and  questions  as  to  the  comfort  of  his  guests 
by  Don  Beltran.  Then  the  cavalcade  started, 
Pablo  leading  the  bull,  which  followed  him  docilely, 
with  long  strides.  The  animal,  ignorant  as  are  the 
creatures  of  the  four-footed  race,  with  regard  to  his 
power  over  its  enemy,  man,  was  obedient  to  the 
slightest  twitch  of  the  rope,  to  which  his  better 
judgment  made  him  amenable.  The  long  rope  was 
fastened  to  the  ring  in  his  pink  and  dripping  nos 
trils.  He  stretched  his  thick  legs  in  long  and  steady 
strides,  avoiding  knowingly  the  deeper  pools  which 
he  had  heretofore  aided  his  kind  to  fashion  in  the 
plastic  clay  of  the  forest  path. 

Beltran  rode  as  near  his  cousin  as  the  path  would 
allow.  It  was  seldom,  however,  that  they  could 
ride  abreast. 

It  was  the  southern  spring,  and  flowers  were 
beginning  to  bloom,  but  Felisa  looked  in  vain  for 
the  tropical  varieties  which  one  ever  associates  with 
that  region.  The  bull  almost  brushed  his  great 
sides  against  the  tree  trunks  which  outlined  the 
sendica.  When  she  was  close  enough  Felisa 

174 


SAN  ISIDRO 

stretched  out  her  hand  and  plucked  the  blackened 
remains  of  a  flower  from  the  center  of  a  tall  plant. 
It  had  been  scorched  and  dried  by  the  sun  of  the 
summer  that  was  passed.  She  thrust  the  withered 
stems  into  the  bull's  coarse  hair,  turned  to  Beltran, 
and  laughed. 

"If  I  remain  long  enough,  there  will  be  flowers 
of  all  colors,  will  there  not,  cousin?  Flowers  of 
blue  and  red  and  orange." 

"You  will  remain,  I  hope,  long  after  they  have 
bloomed  and  died  again,"  answered  Beltran,  gal 
lantly. 

They  had  not  been  riding  long  before  Felisa  sent 
forth  from  her  lips  an  apprehensive  scream.  Bel 
tran  spurred  his  horse  nearer. 

"What  is  it,  cousin?     Is  the  silla  slipping?" 

Felisa  looked  up  from  under  her  cloud  of  spun 
silk,  and  answered : 

"No,  I  am  wondering  how  I  am  to  get  round 
that  great  tree." 

Beltran,  to  whom  the  path  was  as  well  known  as 
his  own  veranda  at  San  Isidro,  had  no  cause  to  turn 
his  eyes  from  the  charming  face  at  his  side. 

"Oh!  the  trunk  of  the  old  mahogany?  That  has 
lain  across  the  path  for  years.  Do  not  be  afraid, 
little  cousin.  Roncador  has  surmounted  that  diffi 
culty  more  times  than  I  can  remember." 

They    were    now    close    upon    the  fallen   trunk. 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Felisa  closed  her  eyes  and  clutched  at  the  bull's 
shaggy  neck.  She  screamed  faintly. 

Pablo  turned  to  the  right  and  pulled  at  the  lead 
ing  rope,  but  the  bull,  with  no  apparent  effort,  stub 
born  only  when  he  knew  that  he  was  in  the  right, 
turned  to  the  left,  and  Pablo  perforce  followed.  It 
was  a  case  of  the  leader  led.  When  Roncador  had 
reached  the  point  for  which  he  had  started,  a  bare 
place  entirely  denuded  of  branches,  he  lifted  one 
thick  foreleg  over,  then  the  other.  The  hind  legs 
followed  as  easily,  a  slight  humping  of  the  great 
flanks,  and  the  tree  was  left  behind.  Suddenly 
Felisa  found  that  they  were  in  the  path  again. 

"Ze  bull  haave  ze  raight, "  commented  Pablo. 
"Ah  endeavo'  taike  de  Senorit'  roun'  de  tre*.  Bull 
ain'  come.  He  know  de  bes'  nor  me."  Don  Bel- 
tran  leaped  his  horse  over  the  tree  trunk,  and  Don 
Noe  was  taken  over  pale  and  trembling,  whether  or 
no,  the  roan  following  Don  Beltran's  lead.  Beltran 
smiled  openly  at  Pablo's  discomfiture,  and  some 
what  secretly  at  Uncle  No6's  fear. 

"A  good  little  animal,  that  roan,  Uncle  Noe\ 
How  does  he  suit  you?"  Uncle  Noe  looked  up 
and  endeavoured  to  appear  at  ease,  releasing  his  too 
tight  clutch  on  the  bridle. 

"II  est  rigolo,  bien  rigolo!"  said  Don  Noe",  gaily, 
between  jerks  occasioned  by  the  liveliness  of  the 


176 


SAN  ISIDRO 

roan.  He  glanced  sidewise  at  his  nephew  to  see  if 
the  Paris  argot  which  he  had  just  imported  had  had 
any  effect  upon  him.  He  owed  Beltran  something 
for  his  superior  horsemanship.  Beltran  never  hav 
ing  heard  the  new  word,  was,  however,  not  willing 
to  give  Don  Noe"  a  modicum  even  of  triumph.  He 
was  bending  over,  securing  a  buckle  on  his  bridle. 
Without  raising  his  figure,  he  answered,  "C'est 
vrai,  mon  oncle,  c'est  tout  a  fait  vrai,  il  est  tres, 
tres  rigolo." 

"Tres  ha  ha!"  added  Don  Noe. 

"Bien  ha  ha!"  nodded  Don  Beltran,  not  to  be 
left  behind. 

"What  wretched  French  Beltran  speaks!"  said 
Don  Noe"  to  his  daughter,  later. 

Uncle  No6  belonged  to  that  vast  majority,  the 
great  army  of  the  unemployed.  He  loved  the 
gaieties  of  the  world,  the  enjoyments  that  cities 
bring  in  their  train.  But  sometimes  nature  calls  a 
halt.  Nature  had  whispered  her  warning  in  Don 
No6's  ear,  and  he  at  once  had  thought  of  the  plan 
tation  of  San  Isidro  as  the  place  to  rest  from  a  too 
lavish  expenditure  of  various  sorts.  He  had  come 
to  this  remote  place  for  a  purpose,  but  he  yawned 
as  they  rode  along. 

Beltran,  proud  of  the  beauties  of  San  Isidro, 
pointed  out  its  chief  features  as  they  proceeded. 
He  turned,  and  said,  still  in  French,  to  please 

177 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Uncle  No6,  and  perhaps  to  show  him  that  even  at 
San  Isidro  all  were  not  savages: 

"There  is  much  to  be  proud  of,  Uncle  Noe.  It 
is  not  a  small  place,  when  one  knows  it  all." 

"C'est  vrai,"  again  acquiesced  Uncle  Noe.  "A 
la  campagne  il  y  a  toujours  beaucoup  d'espace,  beau- 
coup  de  tranquillity,  beaucoup  de  verdure,  et — 
The  rest  of  the  sentence  was  lost  on  Beltran,  but 
was  whispered  in  the  pink  ear  of  Felisa,  who 
laughed  merrily. 

"At  what  is  my  cousin  laughing?"  asked  Beltran, 
turning,  with  a  pleased  smile.  Uncle  Noe  did  not 
answer.  The  words  with  which  he  had  finished  his 
sentence  were,  " et  beaucoup  d1  ennui  " 

"You  wanted  to  come,"  said  Felisa,  still  laugh 
ing. 

"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  God-forsaken  place?" 
returned  her  father.  "I  had  really  forgotten  how 
bad  it  was.  Look  at  those  ragged  grooms.  Ima 
gine  them  in  the  Champs  Elyse"es!" 

"There  can  be  no  question  of  the  Champs  Elyse'es. 
How  stupid  you  are,  papa." 

"And  down  in  this  valley!  Just  think  of  put 
ting  a  house — I  say,  Beltran,  who  ever  thought  of 
putting  your  house  down  here  in  the  valley?" 

"It  was  my  mother's  wish,"  said  Beltran.  "I 
suppose  that  it  was  a  mistake,  but  the  river  was 
further  away  in  those  days.  It  has  changed  its 

.78 


SAN  ISIDRO 

course  somewhat,  and  encroached  upon  the  casa, 
but  we  have  never  had  any  serious  trouble  from  it. 
I  shall  build  a  house  on  the  hill  next  year.  The 
foundations  are  already  laid."  Don  Beltran  had 
said  this  for  some  years  past.  "Not  that  I  think 
that  I  shall  ever  need  it.  When  we  have  floods, 
the  water  makes  but  a  shallow  lake.  It  is  soon 
gone." 

As  they  entered  the  broad  camino,  Felisa  saw  a 
man  coming  toward  them.  He  was  mounted  upon 
a  fine  stallion ;  the  glossy  coat  of  the  animal  shone 
in  the  sun.  The  rider  wore  an  apology  for  a  hunt 
ing  costume,  which  was  old  and  frayed  with  use. 
The  gun,  slung  carelessly  across  his  shoulder,  had 
the  appearance  of  a  friend  who  could  be  depended 
upon  at  short  notice,  and  who  had  spent  a  long  life 
in  the  service  of  his  owner.  The  stock  was  indented 
and  scratched,  but  polished  as  we  polish  with  lov 
ing  hands  the  mahogany  table  which  belonged  to 
our  great-grandmother.  The  barrel  shone  with  the 
faithfulness  of  excellent  steel  whose  good  qualities 
have  been  appreciated  and  cared  for.  The  man  was 
short  and  dark.  As  he  passed  he  removed  his  old 
panama  with  a  sweep.  Beltran  gave  him  a  surly  half- 
nod  of  recognition,  so  curt  as  to  awaken  surprise  in 
the  mind  of  Felisa.  The  contrast  between  the 
greetings  of  the  two  men  was  so  great  that  her  slits 
of  eyes  noticed  and  compared  them. 

179 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Who  is  that  man,  cousin?" 

"Don  Mateo  Geredo." 

"Why  do  you  not  speak  to  him?" 

"I  nodded,"  said  Beltran. 

"You  did  not  return  his  salute.  I  am  sure  it  was 
a  very  gracious  one,  cousin.  Why  did  you  not 
return  his—" 

"Because  he  is  a  brute,"  said  Beltran,  shortly. 

Felisa  had  not  been  oblivious  of  the  glance  of 
admiration  observable  in  the  man's  eyes  as  he  passed 
her  by. 

"Jealous  so  soon,"  she  thought,  with  that  vanity 
which  is  ever  the  food  of  small  minds.  Aloud  she 
said,  "He  seems  to  have  a  pleasant  face,  cousin." 

"So  others  have  thought,"  said  Beltran,  with  an 
air  which  said  that  the  subject  was  quite  worn  out, 
threadbare.  Then,  changing  his  tone,  "See,  there 
is  the  casa!  Welcome  to  the  plantation,  my  little 
cousin." 

And  thus  chatting,  they  drew  up  at  the  steps  of 
San  Isidro. 

Agueda  came  joyfully  out  to  meet  them.  Ah! 
what  was  this?  Where  was  the  little  child  of  whom 
she  and  Beltran  had  talked  so  much?  Agueda  had 
carefully  dusted  the  little  red  cart.  She  had  fas 
tened  a  yellow  ribbon  in  the  place  from  which  the 
tongue  had  long  ago  been  wrenched  by  Beltran 
himself.  The  cart  stood  ready  in  the  corner  of  the 

180 


SAN  ISIDRO 

veranda,  but  Agueda  did  not  bring  it  forward.  She 
caught  sight  of  a  glitter  of  bracelets  and  rings 
against  a  snow-white  skin,  as  Felisa  was  lifted  down 
from  the  aparejo  in  her  cousin's  arms.  Her  lips 
moved  unconsciously. 

"The  diamonds,  not  the  playthings,"  was  her 
verdict. 

As  Agueda  came  forward,  the  surprise  that  she 
felt  was  shown  in  her  eyes.  She  bowed  gravely 
to  the  Senorita,  who  condescended  to  her  graciously. 

"Shall  I  show  the  Senorita  to  her  room?"  asked 
Agueda  of  Beltran. 

With  that  wonderful  adaptability  which  is  the 
inalienable  inheritance  of  the  American  woman, 
Agueda  had  accepted  in  a  moment  the  change  from 
the  expected  child  to  the  present  Senorita.  It  is 
true  that  Agueda's  mother,  Nada,  had  been  but  a 
pretty,  delicate  octoroon,  but  Agueda's  father  had 
been  a  white  gentleman  (God  save  the  mark !)  from 
a  northern  state,  and  Nada's  father  a  titled  gentle 
man  of  old  Spain.  From  these  proud  progenitors 
and  the  delicate  women  of  their  families  had 
Agueda  inherited  the  natural  reserve,  the  refine 
ment  and  delicacy  which  were  so  obvious  to  all 
with  whom  she  came  in  contact.  She  inherited 
them  just  as  certainly  as  if  Nada  had  been  a  white 
woman  of  the  purest  descent,  just  as  certainly  as  if 
the  gentle  Nada  had  been  united  in  wedlock  to  the 

181 


SAN  ISIDRO 

despoiler  of  her  love  and  youth  and  life,  George 
Waldon,  for  there  ran  in  Agueda's  veins  a  heritage 
of  good  old  blood,  which  had  made  the  daughters 
of  the  house  of  Waldon  famous  as  pure  and  beau 
tiful  types  of  womanhood. 

As  Agueda  asked  her  hospitable  question,  Bel- 
tran's  square  shoulders  were  turned  toward  her.  He 
was  busying  himself  with  the  strap  of  the  aparejo. 
Agueda,  who  knew  him  as  her  own  soul,  perceived 
an  embarrassed  air,  even  in  the  turn  of  his  head. 

"If  you  please,"  said  Beltran,  without  looking 
toward  her. 

The  Sefiorita  loitered.  She  asked  Don  Beltran 
for  her  bag.  He  lifted  the  small  silver-mounted 
thing  from  the  pommel  of  his  saddle  and  handed  it 
to  Felisa  with  a  smile.  He  seemed  to  look  down  at 
her  indulgently,  as  if  humouring  a  child.  Agueda 
noticed  the  glittering  monogram  as  it  flashed  in  the 
sun.  Beltran's  hand  touched  Felisa's.  A  gentle  pink 
suffused  her  features.  Agueda  caught  the  sudden 
glance  which  shot  from  Beltran's  eyes  to  those  of 
his  cousin.  A  sickening  throb  pulsed  upward  in 
her  throat.  She  shivered  as  if  a  cold  wind — some 
thing  that  she  had  seldom  felt  in  that  tropic  land — 
had  blown  across  her  shoulders. 

Suddenly  Aneta  came  into  her  thoughts,  Aneta 
of  El  Cuco.  Her  lips  grew  white  and  thin.  It  is 
moments  like  these,  with  their  premonitions,  which 

182 


SAN  ISIDRO 

streak  the  hair  with  grey.  Agueda  did  not  look 
at  Beltran  again.  She  drew  her  breath  sharply, 
and  said : 

' '  If  the  Senorita  permit,  I  will  show  her  the  way. ' ' 
<  "In  a  moment,  my  good  girl,"  said  Felisa,  care 
lessly,  and  lingered  behind,  bending  above  the 
flower  boxes  which  lined  the  veranda's  edge,  flow 
ers  which  Agueda  had  planted  and  tended. 

"What  a  pretty  servant  you  have,  cousin,"  said 
Felisa. 

Beltran  started. 

"Servant?  Oh,  you  mean  Agueda.  She — she — 
is  scarcely  a  servant,  Agueda;  she  keeps  my  house 
for  me." 

Felisa  turned  and  gazed  after  Agueda.  The  girl 
had  walked  the  length  of  the  broad  veranda  and 
stood  waiting  opposite  a  door,  lithe  and  upright. 
She  looked  back,  her  face  grave  and  serious.  She 
was  taller  by  several  inches  than  Felisa.  Her 
figure,  slender  as  Felisa' s  own,  was  clothed  in  a 
pale  blue  cotton  gown,  fresh  and  clean,  though 
faded  with  frequent  washings,  a  spotless  collar  and 
cuffs  setting  off  the  statuesque  throat  and  the 
shapely  hands. 

Felisa  tick-tacked  down  the  long  veranda,  her 
ruffles  and  billowy  laces  bouncing  with  her  impor 
tant  little  body.  She  uttered  a  subdued  scream  of 
surprise  as  she  reached  the  open  doorway  and 

183 


SAN  ISIDRO 

caught  sight  of  the  fresh,  cool-looking  room,  with 
its  white  furniture  and  bare  floors,  its  general  air  of 
luxurious  simplicity.  The  wooden  shutter  in  the 
wall  opposite  the  door  was  flung  wide,  and  one  was 
conscious  of  a  tender  tone  of  yellow  green,  caused 
by  the  rays  of  sunlight  shining  through  and  over 
the  broad  banana  leaves.  Great  lilac  and  yellow 
pods  hung  from  the  shafts  of  greenery;  some  of  the 
large  oval  leaves  had  fallen  upon  the  veranda. 
Felisa  noted  them  when  she  crossed  the  room  to 
inquire  further  into  her  surroundings. 

A  ragged  black  was  sitting  on  the  veranda  edge, 
swinging  his  legs  over  the  six  feet  of  space.  "Hand 
me  that  leaf,"  said  Felisa.  The  boy  arose  at  once, 
and  picking  up  the  lilac  leaf  of  the  banana  flower, 
held  it  out  to  her  with  a  bow  and  the  words  in 
Spanish,  "As  the  Sefiorita  wishes." 

Felisa  took  the  leaf,  but  threw  it  down  at  once. 
She  had  expected  to  find  a  soft  thing  which  would 
crumple  in  her  hand.  The  leaf  was  hard  and  tough 
as  leather.  She  could  no  more  crush  or  break  it 
with  her  small  fingers  than  if  it  had  been  made  of 
india-rubber,  which,  but  for  its  color,  it  strongly 
resembled. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  Agueda. 

"And  do  you  have  no  curtains  at  the  windows?" 

"We  have  no  curtains,  and  windows  we  do  not 
have,  either,"  answered  Agueda.  "The  Sefiorita 

184 


SAN  ISIDRO 

can  see  that  there  are  wooden  shutters  at  the  win 
dows.  No  one  has  windows  on  this  side  of  the 
island." 

The  tone  was  perhaps  slightly  defiant.  It  was 
as  if  Agueda  had  said,  "What!  Finding  fault  so 
soon?" 

"Eet  haave  glaass  obe'  at  de  ceety;  Ah  see  eet 
w'en  Ah  obe'  deyah." 

Felisa  started.  The  voice  came  from  the  corner 
of  the  room,  which  was  concealed  by  the  open 
door.  She  peered  into  the  shadow,  and  faced  the 
shriveled  bit  of  brown  flesh  known  as  Juana. 

Felisa  laughed,  as  much  at  the  words  as  at  the 
speaker. 

"Sen 'it'  t'ink  Ah  don'  haave — yaas — been  aat 
de  ceety.  Ah  been  aat  ceety.  Eet  haave,  yaas, 
peepul."  The  tone  implied  millions. 

Felisa  was  standing  in  front  of  the  dressing-table, 
taking  the  second  long  silver  pin  out  of  her  hat. 

"What  does  she  say?"  she  asked  through  the  hat 
pin  which  she  held  horizontally  between  her  teeth. 
She  removed  the  open  straw,  and  ran  the  pins,  one 
after  the  other,  through  the  crown. 

"She  says  that  they  have  the  glass — that  is,  the 
windows — at  the  city." 

Still  staring  at  Juana,  Felisa  seated  herself  upon 
the  small  white  bed.  Agueda  pushed  back  the  rose- 
coloured  netting  which  hung  balloon-like  from  the 

'85 


SAN  ISIDRO 

ceiling.  A  freshly  knotted  ribbon  gathered  its 
folds  and  held  them  together,  thus  keeping  the 
interior  free  from  the  intrusion  of  annoying  or 
dangerous  insects. 

Felisa  reached  down  with  one  plump  hand,  and 
drew  the  ruffled  skirt  upward,  disclosing  a  short 
little  foot,  which  she  held  out  toward  Agueda. 
Agueda  did  not  move.  She  looked  at  Felisa  with  a 
slight  arch  of  the  eyebrows,  and  moved  toward  the 
door. 

Juana  hobbled  up. 

"De  li'l  laidy  wan'  shoe  off?  Ole  Juana  taake. 
Dat  ain'  'Gueda  business.  Don  Be'tra'  don'  laike 
haave  'Gueda  do  de  waak. " 

"And  why  not,  I  should  like  to  know?' 

Juana  chuckled  down  in  the  confines  of  her  black 
and  wrinkled  throat. 

Agueda  went  out  to  the  veranda.  She  stood  look 
ing  over  toward  the  river,  her  arm  round  the  pilotijo, 
her  head  leant  against  it.  Her  thoughts  were  appre 
hensive  ones.  She  paid  no  heed  to  Juana's  words. 

"She  Don  Be'tra'  li'l  laidy,  'Gueda  is.  She  ain' 
no  suvvan,*ain'  'Gueda.  She  'ousekeep',  'Gueda." 

By  this  time  Juana,  with  stiff  and  knotted  fingers, 
had  unlaced  the  low  shoes.  She  took  the  small  feet 
in  her  hand,  and  twisted  them  round,  and  Felisa 
with  them,  to  a  lying  posture  upon  the  low  couch. 

*Servant. 

1 86 


XIII 

The  casa  at  San  Isidro  had  verandas  running  on 
either  side  of  its  long  row  of  rooms.  This  row 
began  with  the  kitchen,  store  and  sleeping  rooms, 
and  ended  with  the  comidor  and  sitting-room.  The 
verandas  ran  the  entire  ninety  feet  in  a  straight  line 
until  they  reached  the  comidor.  There  they  turned 
at  right  angles,  making  thus  an  outer  and  an  inner 
corner.  These  angles  enclosed  the  dining  and  liv 
ing  rooms.  The  inner  veranda  was  a  sheltered 
nook  when  the  rain  swept  up  from  the  savannas 
down  by  the  sea,  the  outer  one  a  haven  of  delight 
ful  coolness  when  the  sun  glowed  in  the  west  and 
threw  its  scorching  beams,  hot  and  melting,  into 
the  inner  corner.  Here  were  the  steps  leading 
down  the  very  slight  incline  into  the  yard  and  flower 
garden.  Here,  to  this  inner  corner,  were  the  bulls 
and  horses  driven  or  led,  for  mounting  or  dismount 
ing  ;  here  the  trunks  and  boxes  of  visitors  were  car 
ried  up  and  into  the  house ;  and  this  was  what  was 
happening  now. 

Agueda  looked  on  listlessly  as  Felisa's  large  trunk 
and  basket  trunk  and  Don  Noe's  various  boxes  and 
'  187 


SAN  ISIDRO 

portmanteaus  were  deposited  with  reproachful 
thumps  upon  the  floor.  The  peons  who  had  carried 
them,  shining  with  moisture,  dripping  streams  of 
water,  wiped  their  brows  with  hardened  forefingers, 
and  snapped  the  drops  from  nature's  laboratory  off 
on  to  the  ground  They  had  carried  the  luggage 
slung  upon  poles  across  country.  For  this  duty  six 
or  eight  of  them  were  required,  for  there  was  no  cart 
road  the  way  that  they  must  come,  as  the  broad 
camino  ran  neither  to  the  boat  landing,  nor  extended 
to  the  plantation  of  San  Isidro. 

The  men  stood  awkwardly  about.  One  could  see 
that  they  were  expectant  of  a  few  centavos  in  pay 
ment  for  this  unusual  labour.  Don  Noe"  kept  himself 
religiously  secluded  upon  the  corner  of  the  outer 
veranda.  He  well  knew  that  the  luggage  had 
arrived.  The  struggle  up  the  steps,  the  shuffle  of 
men's  feet,  the  scraping  sort  of  hobble  from  callous 
soles,  reached  his  ear.  The  heavy  setting  down  of 
boxes  shook  the  uncarpeted  bare  house,  but  Don 
Noe  was  consciously  oblivious  of  all  this.  He  had 
come  to  pay  a  long  visit,  and  thus  redeem  a 
depleted  bank  account.  Should  he  begin  at  the 
first  hour  to  throw  away  money  among  these  shift 
less  peons?  Beltran  had  doubtless  plenty  of  them. 
Such  menial  work  came  within  the  rule  of  the  gen 
eral  demand.  To  be  sure,  he  had  brought  many 
small  boxes  and  portmanteaus.  Don  Noe"  thought 

188 


SAN  ISIDRO 

it  a  sure  sign  of  a  gentleman  to  travel  with  all  the 
small  pieces  that  he  and  a  porter  or  two  could  carry 
between  them. 

A  good-sized  trunk  would  easily  have  held  Don 
Noe"'s  wardrobe,  but  there  was  a  certain  amount  of 
style  in  staggering  out  of  a  car  or  off  a  steamer, 
loaded  down  with  a  parcel  of  canes,  fishing-rods, 
and  a  gun-case,  while  the  weary  servant,  who  did 
not  care  a  fig  for  glory,  stumbled  along  behind  with 
portmanteaus,  bags,  and  hat  boxes.  It  is  quite 
true,  as  Felisa  sometimes  reminded  Don  Noe",  that 
he  had  never  caught  a  fish  or  shot  a  bird.  Style, 
however,  is  a  sine  qua  non,  and  reputation,  how 
ever  falsely  obtained,  if  the  methods  are  not 
exposed,  stands  by  a  man  his  whole  life  long. 
Self-valuation  had  Uncle  No6.  From  his  own 
account,  he  was  a  very  remarkable  man.  And  as 
he  usually  talked  to  those  who  knew  nothing  of  his 
past,  they  accepted  his  statements,  perforce,  as  the 
truth. 

The  dripping  peons  hung  about  the  steps.  Their 
shirts  clung  to  their  shoulders,  but  those  the  sun 
would  dry.  Don  Noe"  sat  quiet  as  a  mouse  upon 
the  angle  of  the  outer  veranda. 

Agueda  came  toward  the  lingerers. 

"It  is  you  that  need  not  wait,  Eduardo  Juan, 
nor  you,  Garcia  Garcito.  The  Don  Beltran  will  see 
that  you  get  some  reward." 

189 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"A  ching-ching?"  suggested  the  foremost,  slyly. 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Agueda,  wearily. 

She  retraced  her  steps  along  the  veranda,  the 
men  trooping  after.  Past  all  the  long  length  of 
the  sleeping-rooms  went  Agueda,  until  she  reached 
the  storeroom.  The  door  of  this  she  opened  with 
a  key  which  hung  with  the  bunch  at  her  waist.  She 
entered,  and  beckoned  to  Garcia  Garcito  to  follow. 

"Lift  down  the  demijohn,  you,  Garcia  Garcito, 
and  you,  Trompa,  go  to  Juana  for  a  glass." 

Garcia  Garcito  entered,  and  raising  his  brawny 
arms  to  the  shelf  overhead,  grasped  the  demijohn 
and  set  it  upon  the  table.  Trompa  returned,  with 
the  glass.  Agueda  measured  out  a  drink  of  the 
rum  for  each  as  the  glass  was  emptied  by  his  pred 
ecessor.  The  men  took  it  gratefully.  Each  as 
his  turn  came,  approached  the  filter  standing  in 
the  corner,  watered  his  dram,  and  drank  it  off, 
some  with  a  "Bieng,"  others — those  of  the  better 
class — with  a  bow  to  Agueda,  and  a  "Gracia." 
Eduardo  Juan,  more  careless  than  the  rest,  snapped 
the  drops  from  his  drained  glass  upon  the  spotless 
floor,  instead  of  from  the  edge  of  the  veranda  to 
the  grass,  as  the  others  had  done. 

"Eduardo  Juan,  you  know  very  well  that  that 
rudeness  is  not  allowed  here.  Go  and  ask  Juana 
for  a  cloth  that  is  damp,  that  you  may  wipe  those 
spots." 

190 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Eduardo  Juan  smiled  sheepishly,  and  loped  off  to 
the  wash-house.  He  returned  with  the  damp  cloth, 
got  down  upon  his  knees,  and  rubbed  the  floor  vig 
orously. 

"De  Senora  'Gueda  maake  de  Eduardo  Juan  pay 
well  for  his  impertinences,"  laughed  the  peons. 

"Bastante!   Bastante!"  said  Agueda. 

Eduardo  Juan  obeyed  as  if  Agueda  were  the 
house  mistress.  Such  had  been  Don  Beltran's 
wish,  and  the  peons  were  aware  of  it.  Then  Edu 
ardo  Juan  jumped  to  the  ground,  and  followed  the 
other  peons  where  they  had  disappeared  in  the 
direction  of  the  stables. 

When  he  no  longer  heard  the  scuffle  of  feet,  Don 
No£  tiptoed. down  the  veranda,  and  entered  the 
room  which  had  been  assigned  to  him.  He  aroused 
Felisa  from  a  waking  doze  on  that  borderland  where 
she  hovered  between  dreams  and  actuality. 

She  was  again  seated  upon  the  aparejo.  The  bull 
was  plunging  through  the  forest,  or  with  long 
strides  crossing  some  prone  giant  of  the  woods. 
Beltran  was  near;  his  kind  eyes  gazed  into  hers. 
His  arm  was  outstretched  to  steady  her  shaking 
chair.  His  voice  was  saying  in  protecting  tones, 
"Do  not  be  afraid,  little  cousin;  you  are  quite 
safe. ' '  A  pleasurable  languor  stole  through  Felisa's 
frame,  a  supreme  happiness  pervaded  her  being. 
She  felt  that  she  had  reached  a  safe  haven,  one  of 

191 


SAN  ISIDRO 

security  and  rest.  Her  father  had  never  troubled 
himself  very  much  about  her  wishes.  She  had  been 
routed  out  of  this  town,  that  city,  according  to  his 
whims  and  the  shortness  or  length  of  his  purse. 
A  dreamy  thought  floated  through  her  brain  that 
he  could  not  easily  leave  this  place,  so  difficult  of 
access,  more  difficult  of  egress;  so  hospitable,  so 
free!  The  sound  of  Don  Noe's  short  feet  stamp 
ing  about  in  the  adjoining  room  aroused  Felisa 
from  her  lethargy.  The  absence  of  a  carpet  made 
itself  obvious,  even  when  an  intruder  tried  to  con 
ceal  the  knowledge  of  his  presence.  Felisa  now 
heard,  in  addition  to  the  noise  of  tramping  feet, 
the  voice  of  Don  Noe",  fiercely  swearing,  and 
scarcely  under  his  breath. 

"Ten  thousand  damns,"  was  what  he  said,  and 
then  emphasized  it  with  the  sentence,  "Ten  thou 
sand  double  damns."  This  being  repeated  several 
times,  the  number  mounted  rapidly  into  the  billions. 
Ah!  This  was  delightful!  Don  No6  discomfited! 
She  would,  like  a  dutiful  daughter,  discover  the 
reason. 

Felisa  sprang  from  her  bed,  a  plump  little  figure, 
and  ran  quickly  to  the  partition  which  separated 
her  father's  room  from  her  own.  This  partition  did 
not  run  up  all  the  way  to  the  roof.  It  stopped  short 
at  the  eaves,  so  that  through  the  open  angle 
between  the  tops  of  the  partition  boards  and  the 

192 


SAN  ISIDKO 

peak  of  the  roof  one  heard  every  sound  made  in  an 
adjoining  room.  She  placed  her  eye  to  a  crack,  of 
which  there  were  many.  The  boards  had  sprung 
apart  in  some  places,  and  numerous  peep-holes  were 
thus  accorded  to  the  investigating. 

A  scene  of  confusion  met  Felisa's  gaze.  All  of 
Don  Noe's  portmanteaus  were  open  and  gaping 
wide.  They  were  strewn  about  the  floor,  alter 
nately  with  his  three  hat  boxes,  the  covers  of  which 
had  been  unstrapped  and  thrown  back.  From  each 
one  shaking  masses  of  bright  and  vari-colored  flow 
ers  revealed  themselves. 

"That  dam'  girl!"  said  Don  No£,  under  his  breath. 

Felisa  chuckled.  Her  only  wonder  was  that  by 
replacing  her  father's  belongings  with  her  own,  and 
transporting  her  numerous  gay  shade  hats  thus 
sumptuously,  her  methods  had  not  been  discovered 
before. 

At  each  change  of  consequence,  from  boat  to 
train,  from  horseback  to  carriage,  Don  No£  had 
suggested  unpacking  a  change  of  headgear  for  him 
self.  Felisa  had,  with  much  prudent  forethought, 
flattened  an  old  panama  and  laid  within  it  a  travel 
ling  cap.  These,  with  filial  care,  she  had  placed  in 
the  top  of  her  own  small  steamer  trunk.  With  one 
excuse  or  another,  she  had  beguiled  Don  Noe  into 
using  them  during  the  entire  trip.  At  Tampa  it 
had  been  a  secret  joy  to  her  to  see  the  poor  man 

193 


SAN  ISIDRO 

struggling  out  of  the  train  laden  with  the  hat  boxes 
in  which  her  own  gorgeous  plumage  reposed  unin 
jured.  In  crossing  to  the  island,  in  taking  the 
train  to  the  little  town  where  the  small  steamer 
was  waiting  to  carry  them  to  their  goal,  and  again, 
during  their  debarkation  and  stowing  away  in  the 
little  schooner  which  carried  them  across  the  bay 
to  the  spot  where  Don  Beltran  was  to  meet  them, 
she  had  seen  with  supreme  satisfaction  the  care 
with  which  her  millinery  was  looked  after,  while 
Don  Noe"s  assortment  of  hats  was  crowded  into  a 
small  space  in  her  own  Saratoga. 

"I  knew  it,  I  knew  it,"  whispered  the  chuckling 
Felisa.  And  then,  aloud,  "What's  the  matter, 
Dad?" 

Don  Noe"  answered  not.  He  was  impatiently  and 
without  discrimination  hauling  and  jerking  the 
clothes  from  an  open  portmanteau.  Each  shirt, 
pair  of  trousers,  necktie,  or  waistcoat  was  raised  in 
air,  and  slapped  fiercely  down  on  the  floor  with  an 
oath.  Don  Noe"  was  not  a  nice  old  man,  and  his 
daughter  relished  his  discomfiture. 

"Oh,  damn!"  he  said,  for  the  twentieth  time,  as 
he  failed  of  jerking  a  garment  from  the  confines  of 
a  tray,  and  sat  down  with  precision  in  an  open  hat 
box.  Some  pretty  pink  roses  thrust  their  heads 
reproachfully  upward  between  his  knees.  There 
was  discernible,  from  the  front,  a  wicked  look  of 

194 


SAN  ISIDRO 

triumph  in  Don  No£'s  small  eyes.  He  revelled  in 
the  feeling  that  he  was  sinking,  sinking  down  upon 
a  bed  of  soft  and  yielding  straw. 

"So  I  say,"  concurred  Felisa,  as  the  last  excla 
mation  left  Don  Noe's  lips.  She  sprang  away  from 
the  partition  and  flew  out  of  the  doorway,  along 
the  veranda,  and  into  her  father's  room. 

"Get  up  at  oncej"  she  said.  "Dad,  do  you 
hear?  Get  up  at  once.  That  is  my  very  best,  my 
fascinator!  Get  up!  Do  you  hear  me?" 

She  stamped  her  stockinged  foot  upon  the  bare 
floor.  The  pain  of  it  made  her  the  more  angry. 
Don  No6  sank  still  further,  smiling  and  helpless. 

"Get  up  at  once!" 

Two  of  the  peons  had  returned  along  the  outer 
veranda.  They  still  hoped  to  receive  a  reward  for 
their  work  of  the  morning.  They  lounged  in  at  the 
shutter  opening,  and  looked  on  with  a  pleased  grin. 
The  disordered  room  spoke  loudly  of  Don  Noe's 
rage ;  the  crushed  flowers  and  the  stamp  of  the  foot, 
of  the  Senorita's  fury. 

Felisa  raised  her  eyes  to  the  ebony  faces  framed 
between  the  lintels.  She  could  not  help  but  note 
their  picturesque  background,  the  yellow  green  of 
the  great  banana  spatules,  through  which  the  tropic 
sunshine  filtered. 

"Come  in  here,  you  wretches,  both  of  you! 
How  dare  you  laugh!" 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Eduardo  Juan  thrust  a  bony  hand  inside  and 
unbuttoned  the  lower  half  door.  He  pushed  through, 
and  Paladrez  followed  him.  They  entered  with  a 
shuffle,  and  stood  gazing  at  Don  Noe.  He,  in  turn, 
grinned  at  them.  He  was  paying  Felisa  double — 
aye,  treble-fold — for  packing  his  hats  in  some  close 
quarter,  where,  as  yet,  he  knew  not.  Perhaps  she 
had  left  them  behind.  A  crack  of  the  hat  box! 
He  was  sinking  lower. 

"If  you  don't  care  for  my  best  hat,  Dad,  I 
should  think  you  would  not  wish  to  ruin  your  own 
hat  box."  Then,  turning  to  Eduardo  Juan,  "Pull 
him  out  at  once!" 

Don  Noe,  certain  that  he  had  done  all  the  dam 
age  possible,  stretched  out  appealing  hands.  The 
men  seized  upon  those  aristocratic  members  with 
their  grimy  paws,  and  pulled  and  tugged  his  arms 
nearly  out  of  their  sockets.  They  got  him  partly 
to  his  feet,  the  box  and  flowers  rising  with  him. 
Felisa  saw  that  there  was  no  chance  of  resurrection 
for  the  hat,  the  ludicrous  side  of  the  situation 
overcame  her,  and  she  laughed  unrestrainedly. 

"Knock  it  off,  confound  you!"  screamed  Don 
Noe,  in  a  sudden  access  of  rage.  Felisa's  return  of 
good  temper  made  him  furious.  She  danced  round 
him,  taunting  and  jibing.  "The  biter  bit,"  she 
sang,  "the  biter  bit." 


196 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Take  something,  anything,  knock  it  off!" 
shouted  Don  Noe  again. 

Palandrez,  with  a  wrench,  tore  off  the  cover  of 
the  hat  box  and  released  the  prisoner. 

"You've  ruined  my  hat!"  "You've  ruined  my 
hat  box!"  screamed  father  and  daughter  in  unison. 
He  shook  his  fist  in  her  face. 

"Get  out  of  my  room,  every  man  jack  of  you!" 
The  gentle  peons  fled,  a  shower  of  garments,  boots, 
and  brushes  following  them.  The  room  looked  like 
the  wreck  of  all  propriety  and  reserve. 

"Don't  you  think  you've  made  spectacle  enough 
of  yourself?"  asked  Felisa,  and  with  this  parting 
fling  she  flew  from  her  father's  presence,  and  fell 
almost  into  the  arms  of  Don  Beltran,  chance  having 
thus  favoured  him.  He  held  her  close  for  a  moment 
before  he  released  her.  She  was  pink  and  panting 
from  these  two  contrasting  experiences. 

"He  is  often  like  that."  She  spoke  fast  to  cover 
her  embarrassment.  "Did  you  ever  know  him 
before,  cousin?  If  you  did,  I  wonder  that  you 
asked  us  here." 

Beltran  smiled.  He  did  not  say  that  the  visit 
had  been  self-proposed  on  Don  Noe's  part.  His 
smile  contracted  somewhat  as  a  heavy  walking-shoe 
flew  out  through  the  open  doorway  and  knocked 
the  panama  from  his  head.  As  Beltran  stooped 
and  recovered  the  hat,  Felisa  glanced  at  him  shame- 

197 


SAN  ISIDRO 

facedly.  She  noticed  the  wet  rings  of  hair,  streaked 
faintly  with  early  grey,  which  the  panama  had 
pressed  close  to  his  forehead. 

"I  remember  hearing  that  Uncle  Noe  was  a 
young  man  with  a  temper,"  he  said.  "The  family 
called  it  moods."  He  recalled  this  word  from 
the  vanishing  point  of  the  dim  vista  which  memory 
flashed  back  to  him  at  the  moment.  As  Beltran 
spoke  he  glanced  apprehensively  at  the  open  square 
in  the  palm-board  exterior  of  the  casa. 

"Let  us  run  away,"  he  said,  smiling  down  at  the 
girl. 

"Until  he  is  sane  again,"  agreed  Felisa.  She 
plunged  into  her  room  and  caught  up  the  discarded 
shoes;  then  springing  from  veranda  to  the  short 
turf  below,  she  ran  with  Beltran  gaily  toward  the 
river.  A  bottle  of  ink  shot  out  through  the  open 
ing,  and  broke  upon  the  place  where  they  had 
stood. 

"He  is  a  lunatic  at  times,"  said  Felisa,  with  a 
heightened  colour.  There  was  a  drop  upon  her 
eyelash  which  Beltran  suddenly  wished  that  he 
dared  have  the  courage  to  kiss  away. 

"I  shall  hurt  my  feet,"  she  said,  stopping  sud 
denly.  She  dropped  the  shoes  upon  the  ground, 
thrust  her  feet  into  them,  and  started  again  to  run, 
her  hand  in  Beltran' s.  The  sun  was  scorching. 

He   took   his  broad   panama   from  his  head  and 


SAN  ISIDRO 

placed  it  upon  hers.  It  fell  to  her  pretty  pink 
ears. 

She  laughed,  his  laughter  chimed  with  hers,  and 
thus,  like  two  happy  children,  they  disappeared 
within  the  grove  which  fringed  the  river  bank. 

Agueda  saw  them  as  they  crossed  the  hot,  white 
trocha.  She  saw  them  as  they  entered  the  grove. 

"And  that  is  the  little  child,"  she  said  aloud, 
"the  little  child."  Then,  with  a  sudden  painful 
tightening  at  the  heart,  "I  wonder  if  he  knew." 
So  quickly  does  the  appearance  of  deceit  excite  dis 
trust  which  has  no  foundation  to  build  upon. 

Beltran  had  known  no  more  certainly  than  Ague- 
da  herself  the  age  of  this  unknown  cousin.  He 
was  guiltless  of  all  premeditation,  but  to  say  that 
he  was  not  conscious  of  an  unmistakable  joy  when 
he  found  this  charming  young  girl  at  the  landing, 
and  knew  that  she  would  live  under  the  same  roof 
with  him  for  an  indefinite  period,  would  be  to  say 
that  which  is  not  true.  Beltran  was  a  victim  of 
circumstances.  He  had  not  desired  a  change.  He 
had  not  asked  for  it,  yet  when  it  came  he  accepted 
it,  welcomed  it  perhaps.  Had  the  choice  between 
the  known  and  the  imagined  been  give/i  him,  he 
would  have  sought  nothing  better  than  his,  until 
now,  happy  environment.  "It  is  fate,"  thought 
Beltran. 

When  the  cousins  reached  the  river,  Beltran 
199 


SAN  ISIDRO 

parted  the  branches  for  Felisa,  and  she  slipped  out 
of  the  white  heat  into  a  soft-toned  viridescence  of 
shade.  A  path  ran  downward  to  the  river  shore. 
It  was  cut  parallel  with  the  water's  flow.  The  path 
was  overshadowed  by  thick  branches.  Mangoes, 
mamey  trees,  and  mahoganies  were  there.  The 
tall  palm  crowned  all  in  its  stately  way.  The 
young  palms  spread  and  pushed  fan-like  across 
the  path,  in  intimate  relation  now  with  human 
kind.  The  time  would  come  when  no  one  would 
be  able  to  lay  a  finger  tip  upon  their  stiff  and  glossy 
sprays,  when  their  lofty  tufts  would  look  down 
from  a  vantage  point  of  eighty  or  a  hundred  feet 
upon  the  heads  of  succeeding  generations. 

Felisa  ran  down  the  sloping  path  and  seated  her 
self,  all  fluff  and  laces,  upon  the  slope  of  the  bank. 
She  sank  into  a  bed  of  dry  leaves,  through  which 
the  fresh  green  of  new-born  plants  was  springing. 

"Not  there,  not  there!"  cried  Beltran,  sharply. 
"You  never  know  what  is  underneath  those  foot- 
deep  leaves.  Come  down  here,  little  cousin.  I 
have  a  bench  at  the  washing-stone." 

They  descended  still  lower.  Her  hand  was  still  in 
the  one  by  which  he  had  raised  her  from  the  bank. 

"You  have  closed  the  bench  quite  off  from  the 
river,  cousin,  with  those  hateful  wires.  I  cannot 
get  at  the  water  or  even  at  the  broad  stone  there." 
Felisa  spoke  petulantly. 

200 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Beltran  gazed  down  into  the  pretty  face.  The 
eyes,  though  not  large,  held  the  dancing  light  of 
youth.  The  upturned  little  nose  and  the  broad 
mouth  would  not  serve  to  make  a  handsome  older 
woman,  but  the  red  lips  pouted  over  white  and 
even  teeth,  a  rose  flush  tinted  the  ear  and  cheek, 
colourless  curly  tendrils  escaped  from  under  the 
large  hat. 

Felisa's  clothes,  that  most  important  factor  in  a 
man's  first  attraction  toward  a  woman,  were  new  and 
strange,  and  of  a  fashion  that  Beltran  knew  must 
be  a  symptom  of  modernity.  He  was  utterly 
unconscious  that  a  certain  fascination  lay  in  those 
wonderful  great  figures  of  colour  sprawling  over  a 
gauzy  ground  of  white.  He  would  have  denied 
that  the  ribbon  knot  at  the  waist,  and  its  counter 
part  upon  the  left  shoulder,  had  any  particular 
charm  for  him,  or  that  the  delicate  aroma  of  the 
lavender  of  an  old-fashioned  bureau,  which  ema 
nated  from  those  filmy  ruffles  with  every  motion  of 
the  restless  little  body,  had  anything  to  do  with  his 
being  so  drawn  toward  her. 

Felisa  seated  herself  and  stretched  out  her  feet, 
encased  in  a  black  silk  mystery  of  open  work  and 
embroidery.  He  knelt  and  tied  the  silken  laces. 
When  he  had  finished  this  absorbing  task  he  bent 
suddenly  lower  and  pressed  his  lips  to  the  instep 
above.  Felisa  withdrew  it  quickly,  blushing.  She 

201 


SAN  IS1DRO 

knew  nothing  of  such  vigourous  love-making  as 
this.  The  northern  birds  were  more  wary. 

"My  hat,"  she  said,  "please  get  me  one." 

Beltran  turned  and  ran  up  the  path. 

"I  did  not  dream  that  I  should  like  him  so 
much,"  said  Felisa  softly,  as  she  gazed  after  him. 

Beltran  ran  swiftly  to  the  casa  and  bounded  up 
on  to  the  veranda.  Felisa's  door  reached,  he  hesi 
tated.  Agueda  stood  within  the  room,  holding  a 
hand-glass  before  her  face.  She  was  gazing  at  her 
reflection.  At  the  well-known  step  she  started. 
What  hopes  arose  within  her  breast !  He  was  com 
ing  back,  the  first  moment  that  he  was  free,  to  tell 
her  that  she  must  not  mind  his  attentions  to  his 
cousin,  that  they  were  necessary.  She  would  meet 
him  with  a  smile,  she  would  convince  him  that  that 
hateful  jealousy,  which  had  been  tearing  at  her 
vitals  for  the  past  hour  or  two,  had  no  part 
within  her  being.  Ah!  after  all  her  suspicion  of 
him,  she  was  still  his  first  thought !  She  started 
and  dropped  the  glass.  She  turned  toward  him,  a 
smile  of  welcome  parting  her  lips. 

Beltran  hardly  looked  at  Agueda. 

"A  hat!  a  bonnet,  anything!"  he  said.  "Give 
me  something  quickly!" 

She  took  from  the  table  the  gay  hat  in  which 
Felisa  had  arrived,  and  placed  it  in  his  outstretched 
hand,  but  she  did  not  look  at  him  again.  He 


SAN  ISIDRO 

almost  snatched  it  from  her.  Was  not  Felisa  wait 
ing  bareheaded  down  there  by  the  river?  He 
sprang  to  the  ground  and  hastened  across  the 
trocha.  After  he  had  entered  the  grove,  he  buried 
his  face  among  the  flowers,  which  exhaled  that  faint, 
evanescent  fragrance  which  already  spoke  to  him 
of  her.  Agueda  sighed  and  placed  the  silver-backed 
mirror  upon  the  table.  Had  one  asked  her  what 
she  had  been  searching  for  in  its  honest  depths, 
she  could  hardly  have  told.  Perhaps  she  had  been 
wondering  whether  with  such  aids  to  beauty  as 
Felisa  had,  she  would  not  be  as  attractive.  Per 
haps  looking  to  see  if  she  had  grown  less  sweet,  less 
lovable  in  these  few  short  hours. 

"Juana,"  she  called.  "Juana!"  The  old  crone 
hobbled  forth  quickly  from  the  kitchen  at  Agueda's 
sharp  tone.  It  was  new  to  her. 

"Make  this  room  tidy,"  ordered  Agueda.  Juana 
wondered  at  the  harsh  note  in  Agueda's  voice. 
The  girl  herself  was  unconscious  that  she  had 
spoken  differently  than  she  had  been  wont  to  do, 
but  she  was  filled  with  a  defiant  feeling,  a  fear  that 
now  the  others  would  not  treat  her  with  the  respect 
which  Don  Beltran  had  always  demanded  of  them. 
That  new  pain  was  accountable.  At  the  sharp  note 
in  her  voice,  Juana  had  looked  inquiringly,  but 
Agueda  raised  a  haughty  head  and  passed  along  the 
veranda  to  her  own  room. 

203 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Felisa  heard  Beltran  returning.  Her  quick  ear 
noted  every  movement,  from  the  hurried  run  across 
the  potrero  and  the  trocha  to  his  pushing  back  with 
impatient  hand  the  low-sweeping  branches  and  his 
hasty  footfall  down  the  path.  She  wondered  if 
this  new  blossoming  in  her  heart  were  love?  She 
had  never  felt  so  since  those  first  early  days  of  ado 
lescence,  when  as  a  young  girl  her  trust  had  been 
deceived,  ensnared,  entrapped,  and  left  fluttering 
with  wounded  wings.  Should  she  love  him?  Was 
it  worth  her  while?  Her  first  word  was  a  com 
plaint.  Experience  had  taught  her  that  complai 
sance  is  a  girl's  worst  enemy. 

"Why  did  you  place  those  wires  there,  cousin?" 

For  answer  Beltran  came  close  and  looked  down 
upon  her  shining  head.  Suddenly  he  took  her  in 
his  arms  and  kissed  her.  She  struggled,  for  she 
was  really  somewhat  indignant. 

"And  may  not  cousins  kiss?"  asked  Beltran. 
"Those  wires  were  placed  there  to  prevent  the  little 
child  whom  we — I — expected  from  falling  into  the 
river.  You  are  scarce  larger  than  the  little  child — 
whom  we — I — pictured,  but  oh!  how  infinitely 
more  sweet!" 

He  twisted  one  long  brown  finger  in  the  ring  of 
hair  which  strayed  downward  nearly  to  her  eyes. 
Felisa  withdrew  her  head  with  a  quick  motion. 
She  was  experiencing  a  mixture  of  feelings.  She 

204 


SAN  ISIDRO 

had  come  here  to  San  Isidro  with  a  purpose,  and 
now,  within  two  short  hours  of  her  arrival,  she 
found  that  her  purpose  marched  with  her  desires. 
Don  Noe  had  said,  "Felisa,  do  you  remember  your 
Cousin  Beltran,  your  mother's  nephew?" 

"No,  papa,  how  could  I  remember  him?  I  never 
saw  him.  I  have  seldom  heard  of  him." 

"Ah,  yes,  I  know,"  returned  Don  Noe,  with  the 
sudden  awakening  of  the  semi-centenarian  to  the 
fact  that  he  is  communing  with  a  second  genera 
tion.  "Well,  that  wretched  old  grandfather  of 
yours,  old  Balatrez,  cut  your  mother  off  because 
she  married  me!" 

"Had  he  seen  the  hat  boxes?"  asked  Felisa,  who 
had  a  humour  of  her  own. 

"Don't  be  impertinent.  All  that  fine  property 
has  gone  to  Beltran,  just  because  your  mother  mar 
ried  me!  She  was  sister  to  Beltran's  mother,  your 
aunt,  as  you  know.  Now,  Felisa,  I  intend  to  have 
that  fortune  back." 

"How,  papa?  Do  you  intend  to  call  upon  my 
cousin  to  stand  and  deliver?" 

"I  intend  you  to  do  that,  Felisa." 

"I  am  tired  of  being  poor,  too,  papa." 

Felisa  considered  a  shrinkage  from  eighteen  to 
eight  new  gowns  a  summer  a  distinct  sign  of  pov 
erty.  When  Don  Noe  drew  in  his  horns  as  to 
expenditures,  the  young  foreign  attache  who  had 

205 


SAN   ISIDRO 

all  but  proposed  to  him  for  the  hand  of  Felisa 
relaxed  his  attentions.  Felisa  had  hoped  to  be  a 
countess,  but  a  title  is  no  guarantee  of  perennial 
or  even  annual  bread  and  butter,  and  those  indis 
pensable  articles  some  one  must  provide.  At  the 
close  of  Don  Noe's  remarks,  which  were  too 
extended  to  be  repeated,  Felisa  had  said,  "I  am 
quite  ready  for  your  cousin-hunt,  papa." 

A  feeling  akin  to  shame  swept  through  her  as  she 
sat  there  and  recalled  this  conversation,  and  real 
ized  what  this  new  intimacy  with  Beltran  meant  to 
her — what  it  might  mean  in  the  days  to  come, 
for  that  he  loved  her  at  once  and  irrevocably  her 
vanity  gave  her  no  chance  to  doubt,  and  she  knew 
now  that  she  was  beginning  to  find  this  impetuous 
lover  more  than  attractive.  One  who  knew  Felisa 
thoroughly  would  have  said  that  she  was  beginning 
to  care  for  him  as  much  as  it  was  in  her  nature  to 
care  for  any  one  but  herself. 


206 


XIV 

Agueda  saw  all  the  plans  which  they  had  made 
together  for  the  coming  of  the  little  child  carried 
out  by  Beltran  alone.  She  could  not  accompany 
Don  Beltran  and  his  cousin  upon  their  different 
expeditions;  she  could  not  go  as  an  equal,  she 
would  not  go  as  an  inferior.  Besides  which,  there 
was  never  any  question  as  to  her  joining  them. 
The  bull  rides,  the  search  for  mamey  apples,  the 
gathering  of  the  aguacate  pears,  all  of  which  she 
had  suggested,  were  taken  part  in  by  two  only;  so 
was  the  lingering  upon  the  river,  until  Agueda 
shuddered  to  think  of  the  miasmata  which  arise 
after  nightfall  and  envelop  the  unwary  in  their 
unseen  though  no  less  deadly  clutches.  The  walks 
in  the  moonlight,  ending  in  a  lingering  beneath  the 
old  mahogany  tree  for  a  few  last  confidences  before 
the  return  to  the  home-light  of  the  casa,  left  no 
place  for  a  third  member,  because  of  the  close 
intimacy  which  naturally  was  part  and  parcel  of  the 
whole. 

All  had  come  about  as  Agueda  had  planned, 
with  the  exception  that  she  herself  was  missing 

207 


SAN  ISIDRO 

from  plain,  hill,  and  river.  She  had  heard  Beltran 
say:  "Yes,  I  will  take  you  down  to  the  potrero, 
little  girl,  to  gather  the  aguacates,  but  you  must 
not  approach  the  bushes,  for  the  thorns  would  sting 
your  tender  hands. ' '  Agueda  recalled  the  day  when 
she  had  suggested  this  as  one  of  the  cautious  pleas 
ures  open  to  the  little  thing  for  whom  they  two 
were  looking;  but  she,  Agueda,  who  was  to  have 
been  the  central  figure,  she,  the  one  to  whose  fore 
thought  had  been  entrusted  the  planning  and  carry 
ing  out  of  these  small  amusements,  was  excluded. 
As  the  days  passed  by,  Beltran  and  Agueda  seldom 
met,  except  in  the  presence  of  others.  She  ad 
dressed  him  now  in  the  third  person,  as  "If  the  Don 
Beltran  allow,"  or  "If  the  Don  Beltran  wishes." 
When  by  chance  the  two  stumbled  upon  one 
another,  neither  could  get  out  of  the  way  quickly 
enough. 

It  was  on  a  day  when  she  was  forced  to  speak  to 

him  as  to  the  disposition  of  some  furniture,  that  her 

utter  dejection  and  spiritless  tone  appealed  to  him. 

As  he  glanced  at  her,  he  noticed  for  the  first  time 

how    large    her   eyes  were,    what  hollows   showed 

beneath  them,  how  shrunken  and  thin  was  her  cheek. 

"What  is  it,  Agueda?  You  treat  me  as  a  culprit." 

"No,  oh,   no!"     She  shook  her  head  sadly;  then 

threw  off  the  feeling  apparently  with  a  quick  turn 

of  the  head.     "The  Senor  is  within  his  rights." 

208 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Beltran's  heart  was  touched.  He  drew  near  to  her, 
and  laid  his  arm  about  her  shoulder,  as  he  had  not 
done  now  for  a  long  time.  She  stooped  her  fine 
height,  and  drew  her  shoulder  out  from  under  his 
arm.  She  had  no  right  now  to  feel  that  answering 
thrill;  he  was  hers  no  longer.  A  sob,  which  she 
had  tried  to  smother  in  her  throat,  struck  him 
remorsefully. 

"They  will  soon  be  gone,  Agueda;  then  all  will 
be  as  before." 

"Nothing  can  ever  be  as  before,  Senor.  I  see  it 
now,  either  for  you  or  for  me." 

The  wall  within  which  she  had  encased  herself, 
that  dignity  which  silence  under  wrong  gives  to  the 
oppressed,  once  broken,  the  flood  of  her  words 
poured  forth.  The  terrible  sense  of  injustice  over 
whelmed  and  broke  down  her  well-maintained 
reserve.  She  looked  up  at  Beltran  with  reproach 
in  her  eyes,  interrogation  shining  from  their  depths. 

"Why  could  you  not  have  told  me,  warned  me, 
cautioned  me?  Ah,  Nada!  Nada  knew."  Her 
helplessness  overcame  her.  Beltran  had  been  her 
salvation,  her  teacher,  her  reliance.  She  felt 
wrecked,  lost;  she  was  drifting  rudderless  upon  an 
ocean  whose  shores  she  could  not  discern.  Where 
could  she  turn?  Her  only  prop  and  stay  with 
drawn,  what  was  there  to  count  upon? 

"I  do  not  know^the  world,  Beltran.  My  people 
209 


SAN  ISIDEO 

never  know  the  world.  I  have  never  known  any 
world  but  this — but  this."  She  stretched  out  her 
despairing  arms  to  the  grey  square  which  she  had 
called  home.  "Ah!  Nada,  dear  Nada,  you  knew, 
you  knew!  I  never  dreamt  that  she  meant  you, 
Beltran,  you!" 

Hark!  It  was  Felisa's  voice  calling  to  him. 
Soon  she  would  be  here.  She  would  see  them ;  she 
would  suspect.  Beltran  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
he  pursed  out  his  lips.  The  Agueda  whom  he  had 
known  was  ever  smiling,  ever  ready  to  be  bent  to 
his  will.  This  girl  was  complaining,  reproachful; 
besides  which,  her  looks  were  going.  How  could  he 
ever  have  thought  her  even  pretty?  He  contrasted 
her  in  a  flash  with  the  little  white  thing,  all  soft 
filmy  lawn  and  laces,  and  turned  away  to  rejoin 
that  other  sweeter  creature  who  had  never  given 
him  a  discontented  look. 

It  had  come  to  this  then!  Her  misery  could 
wring  from  him  nothing  more  than  a  careless  shrug 
.of  the  shoulders! 

She  stood  gazing  afar  off  at  the  hillside,  where 
the  bulls  were  toiling  upward  with  their  loads  of 
suckers  for  the  planting.  Some  fields  were  yet 
being  cleared,  and  the  thin  lines  of  smoke  arose  and 
poured  straight  upward  in  the  still  atmosphere.  A 
faint  odor  of  burning  bark  filled  the  air.  Near  by 
the  banana  leaves  drooped  motionless.  There  were 


SAN  ISIDRO 

no  sounds  except  the  occasional  stamp  of  a  hoof  in 
the  stable.  The  silence  was  phenomenal.  Sud 
denly  a  shrill  voice  broke  the  stillness. 

"Cousin,  are  you  coming?" 

A  welcome  summons!  He  would  go  to  the  hills 
with  Felisa,  as  he  had  promised.  She  should  see 
the  fields  "avita"-ed.  He  would  forget  Agueda's 
reproaches  in  the  light  of  Felisa's  smiles.  He 
shook  his  tall  frame,  as  if  to  throw  off  something 
which  had  settled  like  a  cloud  upon  him  ;  he  hurried 
along  the  veranda  with  a  quick  stride.  The  excur 
sion  to-day  was  to  be  to  the  palm  grove  upon  the 
hill.  Uncle  Noe  was  to  be  one  of  the  party.  The 
peons  were  to  burn  the  great  comahen  nest,  for  in 
this  remote  quarter  of  the  world  such  simple  duties 
made  amusement  for  the  chance  guest  at  the  colonia. 

Agueda  had  prepared  a  dainty  basket  over-night. 
The  old  indented  spoons,  the  forks  with  twisted  and 
bent  tines,  but  bearing  the  glory  and  pride  of  the 
Balatrez  family  in  the  crest  upon  the  handle,  were 
laid  in  the  bottom  of  the  basket.  Nothing  was 
forgotten,  from  the  old  Senora's  silver  coffee  pot, 
carefully  wrapped  in  a  soft  cloth,  to  the  worn  nap 
kins  on  the  top  with  the  crest  in  the  corner,  which 
was  wearing  thin  and  pulling  away  from  the  foun 
dation  linen.  The  coffee,  planted,  raised,  picked, 
dried,  roasted,  and  ground  upon  the  plantation  of 
San  Isidro,  was  ready  for  the  making;  the  cassava 

211 


SAN  ISIDRO 

bread  was  toasted  ready  for  heating  at  the  wood 
land  fire ;  the  thick  cream  into  which  it  was  to  be 
dipped  was  poured  into  the  well-scoured  can;  the 
fresh-laid  eggs  were  safely  packed  in  a  small  basket ; 
the  mamey  apples  and  the  guavas  would  be  picked 
by  the  peons  upon  the  ground,  and  the  san-coche 
was  still  bubbling  in  the  oven.  Juana,  like  one  of 
Shakespeare's  witches,  bent  over  the  fragrant  stew, 
and  ever,  when  no  one  was  looking,  she  put  the 
pewter  spoon  to  her  withered  and  critical  lips. 
Where  is  the  cook  who  does  not  taste  in  secret? 

Palandrez  would  start  an  hour  hence,  taking  the 
fast  little  roan,  to  get  to  the  hill  in  time  to  serve 
the  san-coche  hot  and  savory. 

Castano,  the  horse  which  it  had  been  Don  Bel- 
tran's  pleasure  to  break  for  Agueda,  stood  at  the 
foot  of  the  veranda  steps.  Agueda' s  saddle  was 
upon  its  back ;  no  other  would  fit  Castano.  Indeed, 
there  was  no  other.  But  there  was  no  sentiment 
to  Agueda  about  the  lady's  saddle.  She  had 
always  ridden  like  the  boy  that  she  looked. 
Agueda  walked  with  dragging  step  to  her  solitary 
chamber;  she  would  not  remain  to  witness 
Felisa's  hateful  affectations.  She  could  bear  it  no 
longer;  she  could  be  neither  generous  nor  chari 
table.  She  had  seen  and  heard  so  much  of  Felisa's 
clinging  to  Beltran's  arm,  her  little  cries  of  fear, 
Beltran's  soothing  responses,  that  her  heart  was 


SAN  ISIDRO 

sick.  She  closed  her  door  to  shut  out  the  sounds, 
and  threw  herself  into  her  low  sewing  chair  by  the 
window.  They  would  be  gone  presently,  and  then 
she  would  wander  forth  in  an  opposite  direction, 
down  by  the  river  perhaps,  or  over  to — where? 
Where  could  she  go? 

A  large  pile  of  linen  lay  in  the  basket.  She  had 
not  touched  it  of  late.  Ah,  no!  There  was  no 
one  now  to  make  the  duty  a  pastime,  no  one  to 
come  in  with  ringing  step,  and  lay  upon  the  wel 
coming  shoulder  a  kindly  hand — no  one  to  twitch 
the  tiresome  sewing  impatiently  from  her  grasp, 
and  bid  her  come  away,  to  the  river  or  to  the 
potrero ;  no  one  to  stoop  and  kiss  the  roughened 
finger.  It  was  as  if  she  had  emerged  into  a  strange 
and  horrible  land,  a  land  of  dreams  whose  name  is 
nightmare,  and  had  left  behind  her  in  that  other 
dim  world  all  that  had  been  most  dear.  She  could 
not  awake,  no  matter  how  hard  she  tried. 

She  sat  looking  dully  out  to  where  the  flecks  of 
sunshine  touched  here  and  there  the  tropic  shadows. 
She  saw  nothing.  Nature  was  no  longer  a  book 
whose  every  leaf  held  some  new  beauty,  each  page 
printed  with  ink  from  the  great  mother's  alembic, 
telling  a  tale  of  joy  that  never  palls. 

Suddenly  Agueda  turned  from  the  scene  and 
clasped  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  for  into  her  land 
scape  had  passed  two  figures.  She  had  thought 

213 


SAN  ISIDRO 

that  they  would  go  by  the  river  path,  but  they  were 
passing  along  the  winding  way  which  ran  through 
the  banana  walk,  one  seated  delicate  and  graceful 
upon  the  accustomed  chestnut,  shrinking  somewhat 
and  swaying  a  little  as  if  in  fear,  the  other  bent 
close  to  her  and  gazing  into  her  eyes  as  if  he  could 
never  look  his  fill.  The  old  story,  her  story,  the 
part  of  heroine  played  by  a  fresher,  newer  actress, 
the  leading  personality  unchanged.  They  made  a 
picture  as  they  rode,  one  which  an  artist  would  love 
to  paint ;  the  flanks  of  the  brave  grey  side  by  side 
with  the  little  chestnut,  the  handsome  lover  lean 
ing  toward  the  pretty  bundle  of  summer  draperies, 
the  red  parasol  held  in  his  hand  and  shading  her 
form  from  the  sun  making  the  one  bit  of  brilliant 
colour  in  the  picture.  It  was  worthy  of  Vibert,  but 
Agueda  had  never  heard  of  Vibert,  and  the  pic- 
turesqueness  of  the  scene  did  not  appeal  to  her. 

"This  way?"  questioned  the  high  voice.  "It  is 
the  longest  way,  cousin,  so  you  said  this  morning." 

"Yes,"  was  Beltran's  answer.  How  plainly  she 
heard  it  as  the  breeze  blew  toward  the  casa.  "The 
longest  way  to  others,  but — "  He  bent  his  head 
and  spoke  lower.  One  had  to  imagine  the  rest. 
Agueda  closed  the  shutter  and  threw  herself  upon 
the  bed,  as  if  she  could  as  easily  forget  the  picture 
as  she  could  shut  out  the  shrill  voice  of  Felisa. 

The  day  passed,  as  such  days  do,  like  an  eternity. 
214 


SAN  ISIDRO 

At  noon-time  a  stranger  rode  down  the  hill  toward 
the  casa.  He  brought  a  letter  for  Don  Beltran. 

"The  Senor  is  up  in  the  woods,"  said  Agueda. 
"I  will  give  it  to  him  when  he  returns." 

"It  is  from  the  Senor  Silencio.  He  hopes  that 
the  Senor  will  read  it  at  once.  The  message 
admits  of  no  delay." 

"Do  you  know  the  palm  grove  up  on  the  far  hill, 
on  the  other  side  of  the  grand  camino?" 

"I  think  that  I  might  find  it,"  said  Andres,  for 
it  was  he,  "but  I  have  matters  of  importance  at 
home.  My  little  boy— El  Rey— " 

Andres  turned  away  his  head.  Stupid  Andres! 
Only  one  thing  could  make  him  turn  away  his 
head. 

"Are  you,  then,  the  father  of  that  little  El  Rey?" 

Andres  nodded. 

"Give  me  the  letter,"  said  Agueda.  "I  will 
send  it  to  the  palm  grove." 

Not  waiting  to  see  Andres  depart,  Agueda  hur 
ried  to  the  home  potrero.  There  Uncle  Adan  was 
keeping  tally  at  the  sucker  pile. 

"Uncle  Adan,"  she  said,  "is  there  a  man  who 
can  take  a  message  to  the  Senor?" 

"I  cannot  spare  another  peon,  Agueda — that  the 
good  God  knows.  What  with  Garcia  Garcito  and 
the  Palandrez  off  all  the  morning  at  the  palm  grove, 
and  Eduardo  Juan  hurrying  away  but  a  half-hour 


SAN  1SIDRO 

ago  with  the  san-coche,  I  am  very  short  of  hands. 
What  is  it  that  you  want?  Do  not  load  the  little 
white  bull  so  heavily,  Anito ;  it  is  these  heavy 
weights  that  take  the  life  out  of  them.  What  is  it 
that  you  want,  Agueda,  child?" 

"It  is  a  message  for  the  Sefior,  Uncle  Adan.  It 
comes  from  the  Sefior  Silencio.  It  may  be  of 
importance." 

"Very  well,  then;  it  is  I  who  cannot  go.  The 
Sefior  should  be  at  home  sometimes,  like  other 
Senors.  Since  these  visitors  came  I  cannot  get  a 
word  with  him." 

"The  Sefior  is  not  always  away,  Uncle  Adan," 
protested  Agueda,  faintly. 

"It  is  true  that  he  is  not  always  away,"  said 
Uncle  Adan,  tossing  a  sprouted  sucker  into  a  waste 
pile,  "but  his  head  is,  and  that  is  as  bad.  He 
seems  to  take  no  interest  in  the  colofiia  nowadays, 
and  I  am  doing  much  for  which  I  have  no  warrant. " 

Agueda  recalled  the  many  times  when  she  had 
seen  her  uncle  approach  Beltran  with  some  request 
to  make,  or  project  to  unfold,  and  his  shrug  of  the 
shoulders,  and  the  answer,  "Don't  bother  me  now, 
Adan,  there's  a  good  fellow;  some  other  time — 
some  other  time."  Agueda  stood  with  her  eyes 
downcast.  She  knew  it  all  but  too  well.  Every 
word  of  Uncle  Adan's  struck  at  her  heart  like  a 
knife. 

216 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"But  the  Sefior  must  have  the  letter,  Uncle 
Adan,"  she  persisted. 

"Very  well,  then,  child,  carry  it  yourself.  There 
is  no  one  else  to  go." 

"Is  there  anything  that  I  can  ride,  Uncle 
Adan?" 

"Caramba!  muchacha!  Castano,  certainly.  Can 
you  saddle  him  your — or,  no!  I  forgot.  No, 
Agueda;  there  is  nothing." 

"The  brown  bull?  The  letter  may  be  impor 
tant." 

"The  brown  bull  has  gone  to  the  Port  of  Entry 
for  tobacco  for  the  Sefior  Don  Noe.  No,  there  is 
nothing,  child;  you  must  walk  if  you  will  go.  For 
me,  I  would  leave  the  letter  on  the  table  in  the 
Sefior's  room.  That  would  be  best." 

Agueda  went  quickly  back  to  the  house.  She 
took  the  old  straw  from  its  peg  in  her  closet,  put  it 
upon  her  head  without  one  glance  at  the  little 
mirror  on  the  wall,  and  ran  quickly  down  the 
veranda  steps.  The  way  seemed  long  to  her.  She 
was  not  feeling  strong;  an  unaccustomed  weight 
dragged  upon  her  health  and  spirits.  All  at  once 
she  saw,  as  if  a  picture  had  been  held  up  to  her 
view,  that  future  which  must  be  hers,  toward  which 
she  was  so  quickly  hastening.  A  few  months — ah, 
God !  Was  it,  then,  to  be  with  her  as  with  all  those 
others  whom  she  had  held  in  partial  contempt — a 

217 


SAN  ISIDRO 

pitying  contempt,  it  is  true,  but  none  the  less  con 
tempt. 

The  distance  seemed  long  to  her.  Time  had 
been  when  she  would  have  thought  a  run  over  to 
the  palm  grove  a  mere  nothing,  but  now  every 
step  was  a  penance  to  both  body  and  mind. 

When  Agueda  reached  the  hill,  she  walked 
slowly.  The  day  was  hot,  as  tropical  days  in  the 
valley  are  apt  to  be.  She  moved  languidly  up  the 
hill.  Arrived  at  the  top,  there  was  nothing  to 
reward  her  gaze  but  the  form  of  Don  Noe,  asleep 
under  a  tree ;  Palandrez  sitting  by,  waving  a  large 
palm  branch  to  keep  the  insects  away.  At  a  little 
distance  the  dying  embers  of  the  picnic  fire  paled 
in  the  sun.  The  place  was  otherwise  bare  of  peo 
ple  or  servants.  Under  the  shade  of  some  coffee 
bushes  stood  the  grey  and  the  chestnut,  but  of  their 
riders  nothing  was  to  be  seen.  When  Palandrez 
saw  Agueda  coming  he  put  his  finger  on  his  lip. 
She  approached  him  and  held  out  the  letter.  He 
made  a  half  motion  to  rise,  but  did  not  spring  to 
his  feet,  as  he  formerly  would  have  done  at  the 
approach  of  the  house  mistress. 

"I  have  a  letter  for  the  Senor,  Palandrez,"  said 
Agueda.  "I  wish  that  you  take  it  to  him  at  once." 

"It  is  I  that  would  oblige  the  Senorita, "  answered 
Palandrez,  sinking  back  hastily  into  his  lounging 
attitude,  when  he  saw  that  action  was  required  of 

218 


SAN  ISIDRO 

him,  "but  I  was  ordered  by  the  Sefior  Don  Beltran 
to  stay  here,  and  not  leave  the  Don  Noe,  unless, 
indeed,  an  earthquake  should  come." 

"But  it  is  a  letter  of  importance,"  urged  Agueda. 
"You  must  take  it  for  me,  Palandrez." 

"And  am  I  to  obey  the  Sefior  or  the  Senorita?" 
asked  Palandrez,  in  a  half-defiant,  half-impudent 
tone. 

For  answer  Agueda  turned  away.  She  had 
thought  of  offering  to  keep  the  buzzing  insects 
from  Don  No£'s  bald  head,  but  her  spirit  revolted 
at  the  thought  of  this  menial  service,  and  perhaps 
a  slight  curiosity  as  to  where  the  main  actors  in  the 
drama  had  gone,  and  how  they  were  employing 
themselves,  caused  her  to  resolve  to  find  Beltran 
herself. 

"Where  is  the  Don  Beltran?"  she  asked  of 
Palandrez. 

"I  have  not  seen  them  this  half-hour,  Senorita. 
When  the  feast  was  over  the  old  Don  laid  himself 
down  "to  sleep,  and  the  Don  Beltran  and  the  new 
Senorita  disappeared  very  suddenly.  They  went 
down  there,  in  the  direction  of  the  little  brook." 

Palandrez  waved  his  hand  toward  the  further 
slope  of  the  hill,  and  again  returned  to  the  duty 
of  keeping  Don  No6  asleep,  so  long  as  he  himself 
could  remain  awake. 

As  Agueda  began  to  descend  the  slope  she  heard 
219 


SAN  ISIDRO 

a  complaining  voice.  She  turned.  Palandrez  had 
stolen  away  to  the  edge  of  the  hill.  He  had  left 
Don  Noe  sleeping  with  the  branch  stuck  upright 
beside  him  in  the  soft  earth  of  the  hilltop.  The 
breeze  waved  the  branch.  "So,"  had  thought 
Palandrez,  "it  will  do  as  well  as  if  I  was  there  fan 
ning  El  Viejo."  But  all  in  a  moment  the  branch 
had  fallen  across  Don  Noe's  face,  and  he  had  awak 
ened  with  a  start.  He  belaboured  Palandrez  well 
with  his  sharp  old  tongue. 

"I  will  tell  your  master,  the  Senor.  Yes,  I  will 
tell  him  the  very  moment  that  I  see  him." 
Palandrez  bowed  his  tattered  form  and  scraped  his 
horny  sole  upon  the  ground,  and  exclaimed,  with 
volubility: 

"It  was  but  muchachado,*  Senor.  I  have  the 
honour  to  assure  the  Senor  that  it  was  but  mucha- 
chado,  no  more,  no  less." 

Palandrez,  in  fear  of  what  his  own  particular 
Senor  would  say  of  his  treatment  of  the  Senorita 
Felisa's  father,  returned  hurriedly  to  his  fanning, 
and  Don  Noe,  pretending  to  sleep,  and  weary  with 
resting,  kept  one  eye  open,  so 'to  speak,  to  catch 
him  again  at  his  muchachado. 

Agueda  descended  the  hill.  When  she  came  to 
the  brook,  she  saw  an  old  log  across  which  some  one 
must  have  lately  travelled,  for  it  was  splashed  with 

*A  boyish  trick. 


220 


SAN  ISIDRO 

wet,  and  there  were  footmarks  in  the  clay  on  the 
shore.  She  crossed,  and  walked  quickly  along  the 
further  plain,  and  soon  heard  the  distant  sound  of 
voices,  Felisa's  high  treble  mingled  with  Don  Bel- 
tran's  deeper,  pleasant  'tones.  The  beauty  of  his 
voice  had  never  been  so  marked  as  now,  when  the 
thin  soprano  of  Felisa  set  it  off  by  contrast. 

Following  the  sound  of  the  voices,  Agueda  again 
ascended  a  slight  rise,  and  before  long  saw  in  the 
distance  the  light  frills  of  Felisa's  gown  showing 
through  the  trees.  She  knew  the  pastime  well 
enough,  the  pastime  which  caused  Felisa  to  sit  upon 
a  level  with  Agueda's  head,  and  to  wave  up  and 
down  as  if  in  a  swing  or  high-poised  American  chair. 
She  knew  well,  before  she  came  near  them,  that 
Beltran  had  given  Felisa  the  pleasure  that  had  often 
been  hers;  that  he  had  bent  an  elastic  young  tree 
over  to  the  ground  ;  that  among  its  branches  he  had 
made  a  safe  seat  for  Felisa,  and  that  he  was  letting 
it  spring  upward,  and  again  pressing  it  back  to 
earth  with  regular  motion,  so  that  Felisa  might  ride 
the  tree  in  semblance  of  Castafio's  back;  only  Bel 
tran  was  closer  to  her  than  he  could  be  were  they  on 
horseback,  and  Felisa's  nervous  little  screams  and 
cries  gave  him  reason  to  hold  her  securely  and  to 
reassure  her  in  that  ever  kind  and  musical  voice. 
When  Felisa  saw  Agueda  coming  along  the  path 
bordered  with  young  palms,  she  said,  "Here  comes 


SAN  ISIDRO 

that  girl  of  yours,  cousin,  that  Agueda !  What  can 
she  want?" 

Beltran  turned  with  some  surprise.  Agueda  had 
never  dogged  his  footsteps  before.  She  had  left 
him  to  work  his  own  will,  independent  of  her 
claims — claims  which  had  no  foundation,  in  fact. 
All  at  once  he  remembered  those  claims  imagined, 
and  he  wondered  if  at  last  she  had  come  to  de 
nounce  him  before  Felisa. 

As  Agueda  came  onward,  hurrying  toward 
them,  Beltran  ceased  his  motion  of  the  tree,  and 
leaned  against  its  trunk,  touching  Felisa  familiarly 
as  he  did  so.  It  was  as  if  he  arrayed  himself  with 
her  against  Agueda.  The  two  seemed  one  in  spirit. 

Beltran's  voice,  as  he  questioned  Agueda,  showed 
some  irritation,  but  its  musical  note,  a  physical 
thing,  which  he  could  not  control  if  he  would,  was 
still  there. 

"Why  have  you  come  here?  What  do  you  want 
with  me?"  He  did  not  use  her  name. 

Agueda  stopped  and  leaned  against  a  tree.  She 
put  her  hand  within  the  bosom  of  her  dress,  brought 
forth  the  letter  in  its  double  paper,  tied  round  with 
a  little  green  cord,  and  held  it  out  to  Beltran.  She 
did  not  speak. 

"Very  well,  bring  it  to  me,"  he  said.  He  could 
not  let  go  his  hold  on  the  tree,  for  fear  of  harm 
coming  to  Felisa,  and  he  saw  no  reason  why  Ague- 


SAN  ISIDRO 

da,  having  come  thus  far,  should  not  cover  the  few 
steps  that  remained  between  himself  and  her.  She 
pushed  herself  away  from  the  tree  with  her  hand, 
as  if  she  needed  such  impetus,  and  walking  un 
evenly,  she  came  near  to  Beltran  and  laid  the  letter 
in  his  hand.  "The  messenger  said  that  it  was 
important.  It  was  Andres  who  brought  it,"  said 
Agueda 

"Ah!  from  Silencio,"  said  Beltran,  awkwardly 
breaking  the  seal,  because  of  the  necessity  of  hold 
ing  the  tree  in  place. 

He  perused  the  short  note  in  silence.  When  he 
raised  his  eyes  from  the  page,  Agueda  had  turned 
and  was  walking  away  through  the  vista  of  young 
palms.  Her  weary  and  dispirited  air  struck  him 
somewhat  with  remorse. 

"Agueda,"  he  called,  "stop  at  the  hill  yonder 
and  get  some  coffee  and  rest  yourself."  His  words 
did  not  stay  her.  She  turned  her  head,  shook  it 
gravely,  and  then  walked  onward. 


223 


XV 

Don  Gil  Silencio  and  the  Senora  sat  within  the 
shady  corner  of  the  veranda.  In  front  of  the 
Senora  stood  a  small  wicker  table.  Upon  the  table 
was  an  old  silver  teapot,  battered  in  the  side,  whose 
lid  had  difficulty  in  shutting.  This  relic  of  the  past 
had  been  brought  from  England  by  the  old  Senora 
when  she  returned  from  the  refuge  she  had  obtained 
there,  in  one  of  her  periodical  escapes  from  old 
Don  Oviedo.  The  old  Senora  had  brought  back 
with  her  the  fashion  of  afternoon  tea;  also  some  of 
the  leaves  from  which  that  decoction  is  made.  The 
teapot,  as  well  as  the  traditionary  fashion  of  tea  at 
five  o'clock,  had  been  left  as  legacies  to  her  grand 
son,  but  of  the  good  English  tea  there  remained 
not  the  smallest  grain  of  dust.  The  old  Senora 
had  been  prodigal  of  her  tea.  She  had  on  great 
occasions  used  more  than  a  saltspoonful  of  the 
precious  leaves  at  a  drawing,  and  every  one  knows 
that  at  that  rate  even  two  pounds  of  tea  will  not 
last  forever. 

They  had  been  married  now  for  two  weeks,  the 
Senor  Don  Gil  and  the  Senora,  and  for  the  first 

224 


SAN  ISIDRO 

time  in  her  young  life  the  Senora  was  happy.  Sad 
to  have  reached  the  age  of  seventeen  and  not  to 
have  passed  one  happy  day,  hardly  a  happy  hour! 
Now  the  girl  was  like  a  bird  let  loose,  but  the  Senor, 
for  a  bridegroom,  seemed  somewhat  distrait  and 
dejected.  As  he  sipped  his  weak  decoction  he 
often  raised  his  eyes  to  the  wooded  heights  beyond 
which  Troja  lay. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Gil?  Is  not  the  tea 
good?" 

"As  good  as  the  hay  from  the  old  potrera,  dear 
Heart.  And  cold?  One  would  imagine  that  we 
possessed  our  own  ice-machine." 

The  Senora  looked  at  Don  Gil  questioningly. 
His  face  was  serious.  She  smiled.  These  were 
virtues,  then!  The  Senora  did  not  know  much 
about  the  English  decoction. 

"Be  careful,  Raquel.  That  aged  lizard  will  fall 
into  the  teapot  else;  he  might  get  a  chill.  Chills 
are  fatal  to  lizards."  Don  Gil  was  smiling  now. 

Raquel  closed  the  lid  with  a  loud  bang.  The 
lizard  scampered  up  the  allemanda  vine,  where  it 
hid  behind  one  of  the  yellow  velvet  flowers. 

"But  you  seem  so  absent  in  mind,  Gil.  What 
is  it  all  about?  You  look  so  often  up  the  broad 
camino.  Do  you  expect  any — any  one — Gil?" 

Don  Gil  dropped  over  his  eyes  those  long  and 
curling  lashes  which,  since  his  adolescence,  had 

225 


SAN  ISIDRO 

been  the  pride  and  despair  of  every  belle  within 
the  radius  of  twenty  miles. 

"You  do  expect  some  one,  Gil;  no  welcome 
guest.  That  I  can  see.  Oh !  Gil.  It  is  my  un — 
it  is  Escobeda  whom  you  expect." 

Don  Gil  did  not  look  up. 

"I  think  it  is  quite  likely  that  he  will  come,"  he 
said.  "I  may  as  well  tell  you,  Raquel;  the 
steamer  arrived  this  morning.  He  must  have 
waited  there  over  a  steamer."  Had  Silencio 
voiced  his  conviction,  he  would  have  added,  "Esco- 
beda's  vengeance  may  be  slow,  but  it  is  sure  as 
well." 

The  Senora's  face  was  colourless,  her  frightened 
eyes  were  raised  anxiously  to  his.  Her  lips  hardly 
formed  the  word  that  told  him  of  her  fear. 

"When?"  she  asked. 

"Any  day  now.  But  do  not  look  so  worried, 
dear  Heart.  I  think  that  we  need  not  fear  Esco 
beda." 

"But  he  will  kill  us,  Gil.    He  will  burn  the  casa." 

"No.  He  might  try  to  crush  some  poor  and 
defenceless  peon,  but  hardly  the  owner  of  Palma- 
cristi.  Still,  all  things  are  possible,  all  cruelties 
and  barbarities,  with  a  man  like  Escobeda.  His 
followers  are  a  lawless  set  of  rascals." 

"And  he  will  dare  to  attack  us  here,  in  our 
home?" 

226 


SAN  ISIDRO 

The  Senora's  hands  trembled  as  she  moved  the 
cups  here  and  there  upon  the  table. 

"An  Englishman  says,  'My  house  is  my  castle.' 
If  I  cannot  say  that;  I  can  say,  'My  house  is  my 
fort.'  I  will  try  to  show  you  that  it  is,  when  the 
time  comes,  but  look  up!  Raquel.  Smile!  dear 
one.  I  know  that  my  wife  is  not  a  coward." 

With  an  assumption  of  carelessness,  the  Senora 
took  a  lump  of  sugar  from  the  bowl  and  held  it  out 
to  the  penitent  lizard.  It  came  haltingly  down  the 
stem  of  the  vine,  stretching  out  its  pointed  nose  to 
see  what  new  and  unaccustomed  dainties  were  to  be 
offered  it. 

"He  has  sent  you  a  message,  Gil?" 

"Who,  Escobeda?  Yes,  child.  He  sent  me  a 
letter  under  a  flag  of  truce,  as  it  were.  The  letter 
was  written  at  the  government  town." 

"And  he  sent  it — " 

"Back  by  the  last  steamer,  Raquel.  His  people 
are  not  allowed  to  enter  our  home  enclosure,  as  you 
know.  I  allowed  one  of  the  peons  to  take  the  let 
ter.  He  brought  it  to  the  trocha.  Any  one  can 
come  there.  It  is  public  land." 

Raquel  dropped  the  sugar;  it  rolled  away. 

"Gil,  Gil!"  she  said,  "you  terrify  me.  What 
shall  we  do?"  She  arose  and  went  close  to  him 
and  laid  her  hands  upon  his  shoulders.  ' '  Escobeda ! 
with  his  cruel  ways,  and  more  cruel  followers — " 

227 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"He  is  Spanish." 

"So  are  we,  Gil,  we  are  Spanish,  too." 

"Yes,  child,  with  the  leaven  of  the  west  inter 
mingled  in  our  veins,  its  customs,  and  its  manners." 

"Gil,  dearest,  I  can  never  tell  you  what  I  suf 
fered  in  that  house.  What  fear!  What  overpow 
ering  dread!  Whenever  one  of  those  lawless  men 
so  much  as  looked  at  me  I  trembled  for  the  moment 
to  come.  And  no  one  knows,  Gil,  what  would 
have  hap — happened  unless  he — had  been  reserv 
ing — me  for — for  a  fate — worse  than — "  Her  face 
was  dyed  with  shame;  she  broke  off,  and  threw 
herself  upon  her  husband's  breast.  Her  words  be 
came  incoherent  in  a  flood  of  tears. 

Silencio  held  his  young  wife  close  to  his  heart,  he 
pressed  his  lips  upon  her  wet  eyelids,  upon  her  dis 
ordered  hair.  He  soothed  her  as  a  brave  man  must, 
forgetting  his  own  anxiety  in  her  terror. 

"My  peons  are  armed,  Raquel.  They  are  well 
instructed.  They  are,  I  think,  faithful,  as  much 
so,  at  least,  as  good  treatment  can  make  them. 
Even  must  they  be  bribed,  they  shall  be.  I  have 
more  money  than  Escobeda,  Raquel.  Even  were 
you  his  daughter,  you  are  still  my  wife.  He  could 
not  touch  you.  As  it  is,  he  has  no  claim  upon  you. 
I  am  not  afraid  of  him.  He  may  do  his  worst,  I 
am  secure." 

"And  I?" 

228 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Child!  Are  not  you  the  first  with  me?  But 
for  you  I  should  go  out  single-handed  and  try  to 
shoot  the  coward  down.  But  should  I  fail — and  he 
is  as  good  a  shot  as  the  island  boasts — Raquel,  who 
would  care  for  you?  I  have  thought  it  all  out, 
child.  My  bullets  are  as  good  as  Escobeda's;  they 
shoot  as  straight,  but  I  hope  I  have  a  better  way; 
I  have  been  preparing  for  your  coming  a  long  time, 
dear  Heart,  and  my  grandfather  before  me." 

Raquel  looked  up  from  her  hiding-place  on  his 
breast. 

"Your  grandfather,  Gil,  for  me?" 

Silencio  smiled  down  upon  the  upraised  eyes. 

"Yes,  for  you,  Raquel,  had  he  but  known  it. 
Come!  child,  come!  Dry  your  tears!  Rest  easy! 
You  are  safe."  As  Silencio  spoke  he  shivered. 
"Your  tea  has  gone  to  my  nerves." 

He  took  the  pretty  pink  teacup  from  the  veranda 
rail,  where  he  had  placed  it,  and  set  it  upon  the 
table.  He  looked  critically  at  the  remains  of  the 
pale  yellow  decoction. 

"Really,  Raquel,  if  you  continue  to  give  me  such 
strong  drinks,  I  shall  have  to  eschew  tea  altogether." 

"I  am  so  sorry.      I  put  in  very  little,  Gil." 

Silencio  had  brought  a  smile  to  her  face.  There 
is  bravery  in  success  of  this  kind,  bringing  a  smile 
to  the  face  of  a  beloved  and  helpless  creature  when 
a  man's  heart  is  failing  him  for  fear. 

229 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Let  us  walk  round  to  the  counting-house,"  he 
said. 

He  laid  his  arm  about  her  shoulder,  and  together 
they  strolled  slowly  to  the  side  veranda,  traversed 
its  lengths,  and  descended  the  steps.  They  walked 
along  the  narrow  path  which  led  to  the  counting- 
house,  and  turned  in  at  the  enclosure.  At  the  door 
they  halted.  Silencio  took  a  heavy  key  from  his 
pocket.  Contrary  to  custom,  he  had  kept  the 
outer  door  locked  for  the  past  fortnight. 

"Our  Don  Gil  is  getting  very  grand  with  his 
lockings  up,  and  his  lockings  up,"  grumbled 
Anicito  Juan.  "There  were  no  lockings  up,  the 
good  God  knows,  in  the  days  of  the  old  Senor." 

"And  the  good  God  also  knows  there  were  no 
lazy  peons  in  the  days  of  the  old  Senor  to  pry  and 
to  talk  and  to  forget  what  they  owe  the  family. 
When  did  the  peon  see  meat  in  the  days  of  the  old 
Senor?  When,  I  ask?  When  did  you  see  fowl  in 
a  pot,  except  for  the  Senores?  And  now  the  best 
of  sugar,  and  bull  for  the  san-coche  twice  a  week. 
And  peons  of  the  most  useless  can  complain  of  such 
a  master!  Oh!  Ta-la!" 

A  storm  of  words  from  the  family  champion, 
Guillermina,  fell  as  heavily  upon  the  complainant 
as  a  volley  of  blows  from  a  man.  Anicito  Juan 
ducked  his  head  as  if  a  hurricane  were  upon  him, 
and  rushed  away  to  cover. 

230 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Silencio  tapped  with  his  key  upon  the  trunk  of 
the  dead  palm  tree  which  arose  grand  and  straight 
opposite  its  mate  at  the  side  of  the  doorway. 

"Now  watch,   Raquel, "  he  said. 

The  tall  trunk  had  sent  back  an  answering  echo 
from  its  hollow  tube.  Then  there  was  a  strange 
stir  within  the  tree.  Raquel  looked  upward. 
Numberless  black  beaks  and  heads  protruded  from 
the  holes  which  penetrated  the  sides  of  the  tall 
stem  from  the  bottom  to  the  top,  as  if  to  say, 
"Here  is  an  inquisitive  stranger.  Let  us  look  out, 
and  see  if  we  wish  to  be  at  home." 

Raquel  laughed  gleefully.  She  took  the  key  from 
her  husband's  fingers,  crossed  the  path,  and  tapped 
violently  upon  the  barkless  trunk  of  the  second  palm 
tree.  As  many  more  heads  were  thrust  outward  as 
in  the  first  instance.  Some  of  the  birds  left  their 
nests  in  the  dead  tree,  flew  a  little  way  off,  and 
alighted  upon  living  branches,  to  watch  for  further 
developments  about  the  shell  where  they  had  made 
their  homes.  Others  cried  and  chattered  as  they 
flew  round  and  round  the  palm,  fearing  they  knew 
not  what.  Raquel  watched  them  until  they  were 
quiet,  then  tapped  the  tree  again.  As  often  as 
she  knocked  upon  the  trunk  the  birds  repeated  their 
manoeuvres.  She  laughed  with  delight  at  the  result 
of  each  recurring  invasion  of  the  domestic  quiet  of 
the  carpenter  birds. 

231 


SAN  ISIDRO 

So  engaged  was  Raquel  that  she  did  not  perceive 
the  entrance  of  a  man  into  the  small  enclosure  of 
the  counting-house,  nor  did  she  see  Silencio  walk 
to  the  gate  with  the  stranger.  The  two  stood  there 
talking  hurriedly,  the  sound  of  their  voices  quite 
drowned  by  the  cries  of  the  birds. 

As  Raquel  wearied  of  teasing  the  birds,  she 
dropped  her  eyes  to  earth  to  seek  some  other 
amusement.  A  man  was  just  disappearing  round 
the  corner  of  the  paling.  Silencio  had  turned  and 
was  coming  back  to  her  along  the  path  which  led 
from  the  gate  to  the  door  of  the  counting-house. 

She  met  him  with  smiles,  her  lips  parted,  her  face 
flushed. 

"Who  was  that,  Gil — that  man?  I  did  not  see 
him  come." 

"You  have  seen  him  go,  dear  Heart.  Is  not  that 
enough?" 

Silencio  spoke  with  an  effort.  His  face  was  paler 
than  it  had  been  ;  Raquel's  face  grew  serious.  His 
anxiety  was  reflected  in  her  face,  as  the  sign  of  a 
storm  in  the  sky  is  mirrored  in  the  calm  surface  of 
a  pool. 

"Tell  me  the  truth,  Gil.  You  have  had  a  mes 
sage  from  Escobeda?" 

"Not  exactly  a  message,  Raquel.  That  was  one 
of  my  men.  A  spy,  we  should  call  him  in  warfare. ' ' 

"And  he  brings  you  news?" 
232 


SAN  ISIDRO 

''Yes,  he  brings  me  news." 

"What  news,  Gil?  What  news?  I  am  horribly 
afraid.  If  he  should  take  me,  Gil!  Oh!  my  God! 
Gil,  dear  Gil!  do  not  let  him  take  me!" 

She  threw  herself  against  his  breast,  white  and 
trembling.  This  was  a  horror  too  deep  for  tears. 

Silencio  smiled,  though  the  arm  which  surrounded 
her  trembled. 

"He  shall  never  take  you  from  me,  never!  I  am 
not  afraid  of  that.  But  your  fears  unman  me!  Try 
to  believe  what  I  say,  child.  He  shall  never  take 
you  from  me.  Come!  let  us  go  in." 

He  took  the  key  from  her  hand,  and  unlocked 
and  opened  the  outer  door  of  the  counting-house. 
He  pushed  her  gently  into  the  room,  and  followed 
her,  closing  and  locking  the  door  behind  him. 
Then  he  opened  the  door  of  the  second  room,  and 
ushered  her  into  this  safe  retreat.  While  he  was 
fastening  the  door  of  this  room,  Raquel  was  gazing 
about  her  with  astonishment.  Her  colour  had 
returned;  Silencio's  positive  words  had  entirely 
reassured  her.  "I  never  knew  of  this  pretty  room, 
Gil.  Why  did  you  never  tell  me  of  it?" 

"I  have  hardly  become  accustomed  to  your  being 
here,  Raquel.  There  is  much  yet  to  learn  about 
Palmacristi.  Wait  until  I  show  you — " 

Silencio  broke  off  with  a  gay  laugh. 

"What!  What  will  you  show  me,  Gil?  Ah! 
233 


SAN  ISIDRO 

that  delicate  shade  of  green  against  this  fresh,  pure 
white!  A  little  boudoir  for  me!  How  good  you 
are  to  me!  You  have  kept  it  as  a  surprise?" 

Silencio  laughed  again  as  she  ran  hither  and 
thither  examining  this  cool  retreat.  He  wondered 
if  she  would  discover  the  real  nature  of  those  walls. 
But  the  delicacy  of  Raquel  prevented  her  from 
touching  the  hangings,  or  examining  the  articles 
in  the  room  except  with  her  eyes. 

"I  spoke  to  you  of  my  fortress,  dear  Heart." 

"Oh!  Are  you  going  to  show  me  your  fortress? 
Come!  come!  Let  us  go!" 

She  took  him  by  the  arm  and  urged  him  to  the 
further  door. 

"We  need  not  go  to  seek  it,  child;  it  is  here." 

Silencio  drew  back  the  innocent-looking  hangings 
and  disclosed  the  steel  plates  which  the  Senor  Don 
Juan  Smit'  had  brought  down  from  the  es-States 
and  had  set  in  place.  Silencio  tapped  the  wall  with 
his  finger. 

"It  is  bullet-proof,"  he  said. 

At  the  sight  of  this  formidable-looking  wall 
Raquel's  colour  vanished,  as  if  it  were  a  menace  and 
not  a  protection,  but  not  for  long.  Her  cheek 
flushed  again.  She  laughed  aloud,  her  eyes 
sparkled.  She  was  like  a  little  child  with  a  new 
toy,  as  she  ran  about  and  examined  into  the  secrets 
of  this  innocent-looking  fortress. 

234 


"Gil!  Gil!"  she  cried,  "what  a  charming  prison! 
How  delightful  it  will  be  to  hear  Escobeda's  bul 
lets  rattling  on  the  outside  while  we  sit  calmly  here 
drinking  our  tea." 

"Perhaps  we  can  find  something  even  more  at 
tractive  in  the  way  of  refreshment."  Silencio  had 
not  forgotten  the  cup  which  had  neither  inebriated 
nor  cheered. 

"I  see  now  that  you  have  no  windows.  At  first 
I  wondered.  How  long  should  we  be  safe  here? 
Could  .he  break  in  the  door?" 

Silencio  bit  his  lip. 

"Not  the  outer  door.  And  the  door  leading  into 
the  house — well,  even  Escobeda  would  hardly — I 
may  as  well  tell  you  the  truth,  Raquel.  Sit  down 
there,  child,  and  listen." 

The  young  wife  perched  herself  upon  the  tall 
stool  that  stood  before  the  white  desk,  her  lips 
parted  in  a  delicious  smile.  The  rose  behind  her 
ear  fell  forward.  She  took  it  in  her  fingers,  kissed 
it,  and  leaping  lightly  from  her  seat,  ran  to  Silencio 
and  thrust  it  through  the  buttonhole  of  his  coat. 
Then  she  ran  back  and  perched  herself  again  upon 
her  stool. 

"Go  on,"  she  said,  "I  am  ready."  And  then, 
womanlike,  not  waiting  for  him  to  speak,  she  asked 
the  question,  "Is  he  coming  to-night,  Gil?" 

"I  only  wish  that  he  would,  for  the  darkness  is 
235 


SAN  ISIDBO 

our  best  friend.  Escobeda  expects  an  ambush,  and 
my  men  are  ready  for  it,  but  he  will  be  here  bright 
and  early  to-morrow.  But  be  tranquil,  I  have  sent 
for  Beltran,  Raquel.  He  will  surely  come.  He 
never  deserted  a  friend  yet." 

"How  many  men  can  he  muster,  Gil?"  anxiously 
asked  Raquel. 

"Ten  or  twelve,  perhaps.  The  fact  that  we  are 
the  attacked  party,  the  men  to  hold  the  fortress,  is 
in  our  favour.  I  still  hope  that  the  Coco  will  arrive 
in  time.  I  hardly  think  that  Escobeda  will  dare 
to  use  absolute  violence — certainly  not  when  he 
sees  the  force  that  I  can  gather  at  Palmacristi,  and 
recognises  the  moral  force  of  Beltran 's  being  on  my 
side." 

"Oh,  Gil!  Why  did  you  not  send  for  the  yacht 
before  this?"  Raquel  descended  from  her  perch 
and  crossed  the  floor  to  where  Silencio  stood. 

"Child!  I  had  sent  her  away  to  Lambroso  to 
prepare  for  just  such  a  moment  as  this.  It  was  the 
very  day  that  your  note  came.  She  should  be 
repaired  by  now.  I  cannot  think  what  keeps  her. 
I  am  sure  that  the  repairs  were  not  so  very  formid 
able." 

"Do  you  think  that  Escobeda  could  have  stopped 
the  Coco,  delayed  her — ?" 

"No,  hardly,  though  he  may  have  seen  the  yacht 
over  there.  But  after  all,  Raquel,  we  may  as  well 

236 


SAN  ISIDRO 

go  to  the  root  of  the  matter  now  as  later.  It  may 
be  as  well  that  the  yacht  is  not  here.  If  we  should 
run  away,  we  might  have  the  fight  to  make  all  over 
again.  However,  we  must  act  for  the  best  when 
the  time  comes.  Have  no  fear,  Raquel,  have  no 
fear. ' ' 

But  as  Don  Gil  looked  down  at  the  little  creature 
at  his  side,  a  horrible  fear  surged  up  within  his  own 
heart,  and  rose  to  his  throat  and  nearly  choked 
him.  She  still  raised  her  eyes  anxiously  to  his. 

"And  your  friend,  your  relative,  that  Don  Bel- 
tran.  You  are  sure  that  we  may  trust  him,  Gil?" 

"Beltran?"  Silencio  laughed.  "I  wish  that  I 
were  as  sure  of  Heaven  as  of  Beltran's  faithfulness. 
He  will  be  here,  never  fear.  He  never  deserted  a 
friend  yet.  If  you  awake  in  the  night  at  the  sound 
of  horses'  hoofs,  that  will  be  Beltran  coming  over 
the  hill;  do  not  think  of  Escobeda.  Go  to  sleep, 
and  rest  in  perfect  security.  If  you  must  think  at 
all,  let  your  thoughts  be  of  my  perfect  faith  in  my 
friend,  who  will  arrive  before  it  is  light.  I  wish 
that  I  were  as  sure  of  Heaven." 


237 


XVI 

When  Felisa  had  seen  Agueda  disappear  below 
the  hillside  she  turned  to  Beltran. 

"What  is  it,  cousin?"  asked  Felisa,  leaning 
heavily  upon  his  shoulder. 

He  put  his  arm  round  her. 

"You  must  get  down,  little  lady.  I  have  a  sum 
mons  from  a  friend;  I  must  go  home  at  once." 

"But  if  I  choose  not  to  go  home?"  said  Felisa, 
pouting. 

"All  the  same,  we  must  go,"  said  Beltran. 

"But  if  I  will  not  go?" 

"Then  I  shall  have  to  carry  you.  You  must  go, 
Felisa,  and  I  must,  at  once." 

For  answer  Felisa  leant  over  and  looked  into 
the  eyes  that  were  so  near  her  own.  She  laid  her 
arm  round  Beltran's  shoulders,  the  faint  fragrance 
that  had  no  name,  but  was  rather  a  memory  of  care 
fully  cared  for  lingerie,  was  wafted  across  his  nos 
trils  for  the  hundredth  time.  One  could  not 
imagine  Felisa  without  that  evanescent  thing  that 
was  part  of  her  and  yet  had  no  place  in  her  con 
trivance,  hardly  any  place  in  her  consciousness. 

238 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Beltran  took  her  in  his  arms  and  lifted  her  to  the 
ground.  The  tree,  released,  sprang  in  air. 

"Ah!  there  goes  my  stirrup.  You  must  get  it 
for  me,  Beltran." 

The  gay  scarf,  having  been  utilized  as  a  stirrup, 
had  been  left  to  shake  and  shiver  high  above  them, 
with  the  tremors  of  the  tree,  which  was  endeavour 
ing  to  straighten  its  bent  bark  and  wood  to  their 
normal  upright  position. 

"I  can  send  for  that;  we  must  not  wait,"  said 
Beltran. 

"Send  for  it,  indeed!  Do  you  know  that  I  got 
the  scarf  in  Naples,  cousin? — that  a  Princess 
Pallavicini  gave  it  to  me?  Send  for  it,  indeed! 
Do  you  think  that  I  would  have  one  of  your 
grimy  peons  lay  his  black  finger  upon  that  scarf? 
You  pulled  the  tree  down  before,  bend  it  down 
again." 

For  answer,  Beltran  leaped  in  air,  trying  to  seize 
the  scarf.  He  failed  to  reach  it.  Then  he  climbed 
the  tree,  and  soon  his  weight  had  bent  the  slight 
young  sapling  to  earth  again.  Felisa  sat  under 
neath  a  ceiba,  watching  Beltran's  efforts.  At  each 
failure  she  laughed  aloud.  She  was  obviously 
regretful  when  finally  he  released  the  scarf  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

Beltran  urged  haste  with  Felisa,  but  by  one  pre 
text  or  another  she  delayed  him. 

239 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Sit  down  under  this  tree,  and  tell  me  what  is  in 
that  letter,  cousin." 

Beltran  stood  before  her. 

"It  is  from  my  old  friend,  Silencio;  he  needs 
me — " 

"I  cannot  hear,  cousin;  that  mocking-bird  sings 
so  loud.  Sit  down  here  and  tell  me — " 

"It  is  from  my  friend,  Silen — " 

"I  cannot  hear,  cousin.  You  must  sit  here  by 
me,  and  tell  me  all  about  it." 

Beltran  threw  himself  upon  the  ground  with  a 
sigh.  She  forced  his  head  to  her  knee,  and  played 
with  the  rings  of  his  hair. 

"Now  tell  me,  cousin,  and  then  I  shall  decide  the 
question  for  you." 

Beltran  lay  in  bliss.  Delilah  had  him  within  her 
grasp ;  still  there  was  firmness  in  the  tone  which  said : 

"I  have  already  decided  the  question,  Sweet.  I 
promised  him  that  I  would  go  to  him  when  he 
should  need  me.  The  time  has  come,  and  I  must 
go  to-night." 

"And  leave  me?"  said  Felisa,  her  delicate  face 
clouding  under  this  news.  "And  what  shall  I  do  if 
we  are  attacked  while  you  are  away?" 

"There  is  no  question  of  your  being  attacked, 
little  cousin.  Silencio  has  an  enemy,  Escobeda, 
who,  he  thinks,  will  attack  him  to-morrow  at  day 
light.  In  fact,  Felisa,  you  may  as  well  hear  the 

240 


entire  story.  Then  you  will  understand  why  I 
must  go.  Silencio  is  a  sort  of  cousin  of  mine. 
He  has  married  the  niece  of  as  great  a  villain  as 
ever  went  unhung,  and  he,  the  uncle,  Escobeda, 
will  attack  Silencio  to  recover  his  niece.  He  is 
clearly  without  the  law,  for  Silencio  is  married  as 
fast  as  the  padre  can  make  him.  But  there  may 
be  sharp  work;  there  is  no  time  to  get  government 
aid,  and  I  doubt  if  under  the  circumstances  it  would 
be  forthcoming.  So  I  must  go  to  Silencio's  help." 
Beltran  made  a  motion  as  if  to  rise. 

Felisa  now  clasped  her  fingers  round  his  throat. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  she  had  voluntarily  made 
such  a  demonstration,  and  Beltran's  pulses  quick 
ened  under  her  touch.  He  relaxed  his  efforts, 
turned  his  face  over  in  her  lap,  and  kissed  the  folds 
of  her  dress. 

"Vida  mia,  vida  mia!  you  will  not  keep  me,"  he 
murmured  through  a  mass  of  lace  and  muslin. 

"Indeed,  that  will  I!  Do  you  suppose  that  I 
am  going  to  remain  at  that  lonely  casa  of  yours, 
quaking  in  every  limb,  dreading  the  sound  of  each 
footstep,  while  you  are  away  protecting  some  one 
else?  No,  indeed!  You  had  no  right  to  ask  us 
here,  if  you  meant  to  go  away  and  leave  us  to 
your  cut-throat  peons.  I  will  not  stay  without 
you." 

"But  my  peons  are  not  cut-throats,  Felisa. 
241 


SAN  ISIDRO 

They  will  guard  you  as  their  own  lives,  if  I  tell 
them  that  I  must  be  gone." 

"Do  you  mean  to  go  alone?" 

"No,  I  mean  to  take  half  a  dozen  good  men  with 
me,  and  leave  the  rest  at  San  Isidro.  There  is  no 
cause  to  protect  you,  Felisa,  little  cousin ;  but 
should  you  need  protection,  you  shall  have  it." 

"I  shall  not  need  it,  for  I  will  not  let  you  leave 
me,  Beltran.  Suppose  that  dreadful  man,  Esco- 
beda,  as  you  call  him,  becomes  angry  at  seeing 
you  on  the  side  of  your  friend,  and  starts  without 
your  knowledge,  and  comes  to  San  Isidro.  He 
might  take  me  away  in  the  place  of  that  niece  of 
his,  to  force  you  to  get  the  Senor  Silencio  to  give 
his  niece  back  to  him." 

"What  nonsense  are  you  conjuring  up,  Felisa, 
child!  That  is  too  absurd !  Escobeda's  quarrel  is 
with  Silencio,  not  with  me.  Do  not  fear,  little  one." 

"And  did  I  not  hear  you  say  that  this  Senor 
Escobeda  hated  your  father,  and  also  hated  you?" 

"Yes,  I  did  say  that,"  admitted  Beltran,  reluc 
tantly,  as  he  struggled  to  rise  without  hurting  her; 
"but  he  will  be  very  careful  how  he  quarrels  openly 
with  me.  My  friends  in  the  government  are  as 
powerful  as  his  own." 

"Well,  you  cannot  go,"  said  Felisa,  decisively, 
"and  let  that  end  the  matter." 

They  went  homeward  slowly,  much  as  they  had 
242 


SAN  ISIDRO 

come,  Felisa  delaying  Beltran  by  some  new  pretext 
at  every  step.  She  kept  a  watchful  eye  upon  him, 
to  see  that  he  did  not  drop  her  bridle  rein  and  can 
ter  away  at  the  cross  roads. 

When  they  reached  the  picnic  ground  they  found 
that  Uncle  Noe  had  departed,  and  Beltran  must, 
perforce,  see  his  cousin  safely  within  the  precincts 
of  San  Isidro.  She  did  not  leave  the  veranda  after 
dismounting,  but  seated  herself  upon  the  top  step, 
which  was  now  shaded  from  the  sun,  and  watched 
every  movement  of  master  and  servants.  Beltran 
had  disappeared  within  doors,  but  he  could  not 
leave  the  place  on  foot.  After  a  while  he  emerged 
from  his  room;  behind  him  hobbled  old  Juana, 
carrying  a  small  portmanteau.  As  he  came  toward 
the  steps,  Felisa  arose  and  stood  in  his  way. 

"Why  do  you  go  to-night?"  she  said. 

"Because  he  needs  me  at  daybreak." 

"I  need  you  more."  Felisa  looked  out  from 
under  the  fringe  of  pale  sunshine  "You  will  not 
leave  me,  Beltran — cousin?" 

"It  is  only  for  a  few  hours,  dear  child." 

"Is  this  Silencio  more  to  you  than  I  am,  then, 
Beltran?" 

"Good  God!  No,  child,  but  I  shall  return  before 
you  have  had  your  dip  in  the  river." 

"I  do  not  like  to  be  left  here  alone,  cousin. 
I  want  you — " 

243 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"I  must  go,  and  at  once,  Felisa.  Silencio 
depends  upon  me.  Good  by,  good  by!  You  will 
see  me  at  breakfast. ' ' 

Felisa  arose.      The  time  for  pleading  was  past. 

"You  shall  not  go,"  said  she,  holding  his  sleeve 
with  her  small  fingers. 

"I  must!"  He  pulled  the  sleeve  gently  away. 
She  clasped  it  again  persistently.  Then  she  said, 
resolutely  and  with  emphasis,  "So  sure  as  you  do, 
I  take  the  first  steamer  for  home." 

"You  would  not  do  that?" 

"That  is  my  firm  intention." 

"But  Silencio  needs  me." 

"I  need  you  more." 

Felisa  withdrew  her  small  hands  from  his  sleeve 
and  started  down  the  veranda,  toward  her  room. 
Her  little  shoes  tick-tacked  as  she  walked. 

He  called  after  her,  "Where  are  you  going?" 

"To  pack  my  trunks,"  said  Felisa,  "if  you  can 
spare  that  girl  of  yours — that  Agueda — to  help 
me." 

A  throb  of  joy  flew  upward  in  the  heart  of 
Agueda,  whose  nervous  ear  was  awake  now  to  all 
sounds. 

"Do  you  really  mean  it,  Felisa?" 

"I  certainly  do  mean  it,"  answered  Felisa.  "If 
you  go  away  from  me  now,  I  will  take  the  first 
steamer  home.  To-morrow,  if  one  sails." 

244 


SAN   ISIDRO 

"And  suppose  that  I  refuse  you  the  horses,  the 
conveyance,  the  servants — " 

Felisa  turned  and  looked  scornfully  at  Beltran. 

"I  suppose  that  you  are  a  gentleman  first  of  all," 
she  said.  "You  could  not  refuse." 

"No,  I  could  not." 

"And  you  will  remain?" 

Beltran  dropped  his  head  on  his  breast. 

"I  will  remain,"  he  said. 

Beltran  drew  his  breath  sharply  inward. 

"It  is  the  first  time,"  he  added. 

"The  first  time?"  She  looked  at  him  question 
ing^- 

"Did  I  speak  aloud?  Yes,  the  first  time,  Felisa, 
that  I  was  ever  false  to  a  friend.  He  counts  on 
me;  I  promised — " 

"Men  friends,  I  suppose.  What  about  women? 
I  count  on  you,  you  have  promised  me — " 

Agueda  threw  herself  face  downward  on  her  bed 
and  stopped  her  ears  with  deep  buried  fingers. 


245 


XVII 

Silencio  passed  the  night  in  wakeful  watching  and 
planning.  Raquel  slept  the  innocent  sleep  of  a 
careless  child.  Gil  had  promised  that  all  would 
come  out  well.  She  trusted  him. 

Very  early  in  the  morning  the  scouts  whom 
Silencio  had  placed  along  the  boundaries'  of  his 
estate  were  called  in,  and  collected  within  the  patio 
of  the  casa.  The  outer  shutters  of  the  windows 
were  closed  and  bolted ;  the  two  or  three  glass 
windows,  which  spoke  of  the  innovation  which  civ 
ilization  brings  in  its  train,  were  protected  by  their 
heavy  squares  of  plank.  The  doors  were  locked, 
and  the  casa  at  Palmacristi  was  made  ready  for  a 
siege. 

Silencio  awakened  Raquel  as  the  first  streak  of 
dawn  crept  up  from  the  horizon.  Over  there  to 
the  eastward  trembled  and  paled  that  opalescent 
harbinger  which  told  her  that  day  was  breaking. 
She  looked  up  with  a  child's  questioning  eyes. 

"It  is  time,  sweetheart.  Now  listen,  Raquel. 
Pack  a  little  bag,  and  be  ready  for  a  journey." 

Raquel  pouted. 

246 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Cannot  Guillermina  pack  my  bag?" 

"No,  not  even  Guillermina  may  pack  your  bag. 
When  it  is  ready,  set  it  just  inside  your  door.  If 
you  do  not  need  it,  so  much  the  better.  You  may 
open  your  windows  toward  the  sea,  but  not  those 
that  look  toward  Troja." 

Silencio  flung  wide  the  heavy  shutter  as  he  spoke. 
Raquel  glanced  out  to  sea. 

"Oh,  Gil!  where  is  the  Coco?" 

"I  wish  I  knew.     She  should  be  here." 

"Are  we  to  go  on  board,  Gil?" 

"Unfortunately,  even  should  she  arrive  now,  she 
is  a  half-hour  too  late.  Now  hasten,  I  will  give 
you  fifteen  minutes,  no  more." 

"We  might  have  gone  out  in  the  boat,  Gil.  Oh! 
why  did  you  not  call  me?" 

Silencio  pointed  along  the  path  to  the  right. 
Some  of  Escobeda's  men,  armed  with  machetes  and 
shotguns,  stood  just  at  the  edge  of  the  forest,  where 
at  any  moment  they  could  seek  protection  behind 
the  trees.  They  looked  like  ghosts  in  the  early  dawn. 

"And  where  is  your  friend,  Beltran?" 

Silencio  shook  his  head. 

"He  cannot  have  received  my  message,"  he  said. 

"And  are  the  men  of  Palmacristi  too  great  cow 
ards  to  fight  those  wretches?" 

Silencio  started  as  if  he  had  been  struck.  He  did 
not  answer  for  a  moment;  then  he  said  slowly: 

247 


SAN   ISIDRO 

"Raquel,  do  you  know  what  we  should  be  doing 
were  you  not  here? — I  and  my  men?" 

He  spoke  coldly.  Raquel  had  never  heard  these 
tones  before. 

"We  should  be  out  there  hunting  those  rascals  to 
the  death,  n$  matter  how  they  outnumber  us;  but 
I  dare  not  trust  you  between  this  and  the  shore. 
My  scouts  tell  me  that  they  have  kept  up  picket  duty 
all  night.  Escobeda  expected  the  Coco  back  this 
morning;  at  all  events,  he  was  ready  for  our  escape 
in  that  way.  The  orders  of  those  men  are  to  take 
you  at  any  cost.  Should  I  be  killed,  your  protec 
tion  would  be  gone.  I  am  a  coward,  but  for  you 
only,  Raquel,  for  you  only." 

The  young  wife  looked  down.  The  colour 
mounted  to  her  eyes.  She  drew  closer  to  her  hus 
band,  but  for  once  he  did  not  respond  readily  to 
her  advances.  He  was  hurt  to  the  core. 

"Get  yourself  ready  at  once,"  he  said.  "I  will 
give  you  fifteen  minutes,  no  more.  We  have 
wasted  much  time  already." 

Raquel  hardly  waited  for  Silencio  to  close  the 
door.  She  began  to  dress  at  once,  her  trembling 
fingers  refusing  to  tie  strings  or  push  the  buttons 
through  the  proper  holes.  As  she  hurriedly  put  on 
her  everyday  costume,  she  glanced  out  of  the  win 
dow  to  see  if  in  the  offing  she  could  discover  the 
Coco.  The  little  yacht  was  at  that  very  moment 

248 


SAN  ISIDRO 

hastening  with  all  speed  toward  her  master,  but  a 
point  of  land  on  the  north  hid  her  completely  from 
Raquel's  view. 

"Although  he  will  not  own  it,  he  evidently 
intends  to  carry  me  away  in  the  yacht."  Raquel 
smiled.  "So  much  the  better;  it  will  be  another 
honeymoon." 

When  Silencio  left  Raquel,  he  ran  out  to  the 
patio.  On  the  way  thither  he  met  old  Guillermina 
with  a  tray  on  which  was  her  mistress's  coffee. 
Upon  the  table  in  the  patio  veranda — that  used  by 
the  servants — a  hasty  meal  was  laid.  Silencio 
broke  a  piece  of  cassava  bread  and  drank  the  cup 
of  coffee  which  was  poured  out  for  him,  and  as  he 
drank  he  glanced  upward.  Andres  was  standing 
on  the  low  roof,  on  the  inner  side  of  the  chimney 
of  stone  which  carried  off  the  kitchen  smoke.  He 
turned  and  looked  down  at  Don  Gil. 

"The  Senor  Escobeda  approaches  along  the  gran' 
camino,  Senor." 

Silencio  set  down  his  cup  and  ran  up  the  escalera. 
He  walked  out  to  the  edge  of  the  roof,  and  shaded 
his  eyes  with  his  hand. 

"Yes,  Andres;  it  is  true.  And  I  see  that  he  has 
some  gentlemen  with  him."  He  turned  and  called 
down  to  the  patio. 

"Ask  Guillermina  if  her  mistress  has  had  her 
coffee." 

249 


SAN  ISIDRO 

As  he  faced  about  a  shot  rang  out.  The  bullet 
whistled  near  his  head. 

"Go  down,  Sefior,  for  the  love  of  God!"  said 
Andres. 

The  company  of  horsemen  were  riding  at  a  quick 
pace,  and  were  now,  within  hearing. 

Silencio  waved  his  arm  defiantly. 

"Ah!  then  it  is  you,  Senor  Escobeda!  I  see 
whom  you  have  with  you.  Is  that  you,  Pedro 
Geredo?  Is  that  you,  Marcoz  Absalon?  You  two 
will  have  something  to  answer  for  when  I  report 
this  outrage  at  the  government  town." 

Escobeda  had  ridden  near  to  the  enclosure.  His 
head  was  shaking  with  rage.  His  earrings  glittered 
in  the  morning  sun,  his  bloodshot  eyes  flashed  fire. 
He  raised  his  rifle  and  aimed  it  at  Silencio. 

"You  know  what  I  have  come  for,  Sefior.  Send 
my  niece  out  to  me,  and  we  shall  retire  at  once." 

"How  dare  you  take  that  name  upon  your  lips?" 
Silencio  was  livid  with  rage.  Another  shot  was 
fired.  This  time  it  ploughed  its  way  through 
Silencio's  sleeve. 

"Shall  I  kill  him,  Senor?"  Andres  brought  his 
escopeta  to  his  shoulder;  he  aimed  directly  at  Esco 
beda.  "I  can  kill  him  without  trouble,  Senor,  and 
avoid  further  argument.  It  is  as  the  Senor  says!" 

Silencio  looked  anxiously  seaward.  No  sign  of 
the  Coco! 

250 


SAN  ISIDRO 

''Not  until  I  give  the  word,  Andres."  And  then 
to  Escobeda,  "I  defy  you!  I  defy  you!" 

Shots  began  to  fall  upon  the  casa  from  the  guns 
of  Escobeda's  impudent  followers.  Escobeda  leaped 
his  horse  into  the  enclosure;  his  men  followed  suit. 
Silencio  saw  them  ride  in  lawless  insolence  along 
the  side  of  the  building,  and  then  heard  the  hollow 
ring  of  the  horses'  hoofs  upon  the  veranda.  He 
ran  down  the  escalera.  The  mob  were  battering 
at  the  front  door  with  the  butt  ends  of  their  mus 
kets. 

Raquel  appeared  in  the  patio,  pale  and  terrified. 

"Gil!  Gil!"  she  cried,  "they  are  coming  in! 
They  will  take  me!" 

"Coward!  Come  out  and  fight,"  was  the  cry 
from  the  outside. 

"I  am  a  coward  for  you,  dear."  He  seized  her 
wrists.  "To  the  counting-house!"  he  whispered, 
"to  the  counting-house!"  As  they  ran  she  asked, 
"Is  there  any  sign  of  the  Coco?" 

"None,"  answered  Silencio;  "but  we  could  not 
reach  her  now." 

Together  they  flew  through  the  hallways,  across 
the  chambers,  where  the  blows  were  sounding  loud 
upon  the  wooden  wall  of  the  house,  upon  the  shut 
ters,  and  the  doors.  They  ran  down  the  far  pas 
sage  and  reached  the  counting-house  door.  Silen 
cio  stumbled  over  something  near  the  sill. 

251 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Ah!  your  bag,"  he  said.  "I  told  Guillermina 
to  set  it  there." 

He  opened  the  door  with  the  key  held  ready,  and 
together  they  entered.  Silencio  tore  the  rug  from 
the  middle  of  the  room,  and  disclosed  to  Raquel's 
amazed  eyes  a  door  sunken  in  the  floor.  He  raised 
it  by  its  heavy  ring.  A  cold  blast  of  air  flowed 
upward  into  the  warm  interior.  Raquel  had 
thought  the  room  cool  before;  now  she  shivered  as 
if  with  a  chill.  Silencio  pushed  her  gently  toward 
the  opening.  "Go  down,"  he  said. 

Raquel  gazed  downward  at  the  black  depths. 

"I  cannot  go  alone,  Gil."     She  shuddered. 

"Turn  round,  dear  Heart;  put  your  feet  on  the 
rungs  of  the  ladder,  so!  Ah!  what  was  that?" 
Silencio  glanced  anxiously  toward  the  open  door 
way.  A  heavy  cracking  of  the  stout  house-door 
showed  to  what  lengths  Escobeda  and  his  followers 
were  prepared  to  venture. 

"Go,  go!  At  the  bottom  is  a  lantern;  light  it 
if  you  can,  while  I  close  the  trap-door." 

Raquel  shrank  at  the  mouth  of  this  black  open 
ing,  which  seemed  to  yawn  for  them.  The  damp 
smell  of  mould,  the  cold,  the  gloom,  were  sudden 
and  dreadful  reminders  of  the  tomb  which  this 
might  become.  She  imagined  it  a  charnel  house. 
She  dreaded  to  descend  for  fear  that  she  should 


252 


SAN  ISIDRO 

place  her  feet  upon  a  corpse,  or  lay  her  fingers  on 
the  fleshless  bones  of  a  skeleton. 

"Courage,  my  Heart!  Courage!  Go  down!  Do 
not  delay." 

At  the  kindness  of  his  tone,  Raquel,  taking  cour 
age,  began  to  descend.  Terrible  thoughts  filled 
her  mind.  What  if  Escobeda  and  his  men  should 
discover  their  retreat,  and  cut  off  escape  at  their 
destination?  What  that  destination  was  she  knew 
not.  Her  eyes  tried  vainly  to  pierce  the  mysteri 
ous  gloom.  It  was  as  if  she  looked  into  the  black 
ness  of  a  cavern.  She  turned  and  gazed  for  a 
moment  back  into  the  homelike  interior  which  she 
was  leaving,  perhaps  for  all  time.  The  loud  blows 
upon  the  house-door  were  the  accompaniment  of 
her  terrified  thoughts. 

Raquel  descended  nervously,  her  trembling  limbs 
almost  refusing  to  support  her.  She  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  ladder,  and  by  the  aid  of  the  dim 
light  from  above,  she  found  the  lantern  and  the 
matches,  which  Silencio's  thoughtful  premonition 
had  placed  there,  ready  for  her  coming.  As  she 
lighted  the  lantern  she  keard  a  terrific  crash. 

Silencio,  with  a  last  glance  at  th'e  open  door  of 
the  counting-house,  which  he  had  forgotten  to 
close,  now  lowered  the  trap-door,  and  joined 
Raquel  in  the  dark  passage.  He  stood  and  listened 
for  a  moment.  He  heard  a  footstep  on  the  floor 

253 


SAN   ISIDRO 

above,  and  taking  Raquel's  hand  in  his,  together 
they  sped  along  the  path  which  he  hoped  would 
lead  her  to  safety. 

"Oh,  child!"  he  said,  in  sharp,  panting  words, 
as  they  breathlessly  pursued  the  obscure  way,  "for 
the  first  time  I  have  given  you  proof  of  my  love." 

Raquel  turned  to  look  at  him.  She  saw  his  dark 
face  revealed  fitfully  by  the  flashes  of  the  lantern 
swinging  from  his  hand. 

"Here  am  I  flying  from  that  villain,  when  I  ache 
to  seize  him  by  the  throat  and  choke  the  very 
breath  of  life  out  of  him.  Here  am  I  running 
away,  running  away! — do  you  hear  me,  Raquel? — 
while  they,  behind  there,  are  calling  me  coward. 
But  should  he  take  you — " 

Raquel  stumbled  and  almost  fell  at  these  dread 
ful  words. 

"Gil,  Gil,  dearest!  do  not  speak  of  it;  perhaps 
he  is  coming  even  now  behind  us." 

At  the  dreadful  suspicion  she  fell  against  the 
wall,  dragging  him  with  her.  She  clung  to  him  in 
terror,  impeding  his  progress. 

"This  is  not  the  time  to  give  way,  Raquel." 
Silencio  spoke  sternly.  "Call  all  your  will  to  your 
aid  now.  Run  ahead  of  me,  while  I  stand  a 
moment  here." 

Raquel  gathered  all  her  resolution,  and  without 
further  question  fled  again  upon  her  way.  Silencio 

254 


SAN   ISIDRO 

waited  a  moment,  facing  the  steps  which  they  had 
just  descended,  and  listened  intently.  But  all 
that  he  heard  was  the  sound  of  Raquel's  flying  feet. 
When  he  was  convinced  that  no  one  was  following 
them,  he  turned  again  and  ran  quickly  after  Raquel. 
He  easily  gained  upon  her. 

"I  hear  nothing,  Raquel.  Do  not  be  so  fright 
ened." 

At  these  words  the  changeable  child  again 
regained  confidence. 

"You  have  heard  of  a  man  building  better  than 
he  knew,"  he  said.  He  waved  the  lantern  toward 
the  sides  of  the  tunnel.  "There  were  wild  tales  of 
smuggling  in  the  old  days — " 

The  colour  had  returned  to  Raquel's  cheek.  She 
laughed  a  little  as  she  asked : 

"Did  your  grandfather  smuggle,  Gil?" 

"He  was  no  better  and  no  worse  than  other  men ; 
who  knows  what — we  will  talk  later  of  that. 
Come!" 

He  took  her  hand  in  his,  and  again  together  they 
fled  along  the  passage.  As  no  sound  of  pursuing 
feet  came  to  their  ears,  confidence  began  to  return. 
They  were  like  two  children  running  a  race.  Silen- 
cio  laughed  aloud,  and  as  they  got  further  from  the 
entrance  to  the  passage  he  whistled,  he  sang,  he 
shouted !  The  sound  of  his  laughter  chilled  the 
heart  of  Raquel  with  fear. 

255 


SAN   ISIDRO 

"Gil,"  she  pleaded,  "they  will  hear  you.  They 
will  know  where  we  have  gone."  She  laid  her 
ringers  on  his  lips  as  they  ran,  and  he  playfully  bit 
them,  as  he  had  seen  her  close  her  teeth  upon  El 
Rey's. 

The  passage  was  a  long  one.  Raquel  thought 
that  it  would  never  end. 

"Have  we  come  more  than  two  miles,  Gil?"  she 
asked. 

Raquel  was  not  used  to  breathless  flights  in  the 
dark  Silencio  laughed. 

"Poor  little  girl!  Does  it  seem  so  long,  then? 
When  we  have  reached  the  further  end  we  shall 
have  come  just  three  hundred  feet." 

At  last,  at  last!  the  further  door  was  reached. 
Silencio  unlocked  it  and  pushed  it  open.  This  was 
rendered  somewhat  difficult  by  the  sand  which  had 
been  blown  about  the  entrance  since  last  he  had 
brushed  it  away.  A  little  patient  work,  and  the 
two  squeezed  themselves  through  the  narrow 
opening. 

"Hark!  I  hear  footsteps,"  whispered  Raquel, 
her  face  pale  with  renewed  terror. 

Silencio  stood  still  and  listened. 

"You  are  right,"  he  said;  "they  are  behind  us. 
Take  the  lantern  and  hold  it  for  me  close  to 
the  keyhole."  He  began  pushing  the  door  into 
place. 

256 


SAN   ISIDRO 

She  took  the  light  from  him  and  held  it  as  he 
directed. 

"Hold  it  steady,  child.  Steady! — Do  not  trem 
ble  so!  I  must  see!  I  must!  steady!" 

Raquel's  hand  shook  as  if  with  a  palsy. 

The  footsteps  came  nearer.  To  her  they 
sounded  from  out  the  darkness  like  the  approach  of 
death. 

"Hasten!"  she  whispered,  "hasten!"  She  held 
the  lantern  against  the  frame  of  the  solid  door  and 
pressed  her  shoulder  against  it,  that  her  nervous 
ness  should  not  agitate  the  flame,  whispering 
"Hasten!"  the  while  to  Silencio,  whose  trembling 
fingers  almost  refused  to  do  this  most  necessary 
work.  At  last,  with  a  bang  and  a  sharp  twist  of 
the  key,  the  heavy  door  was  closed  and  locked. 

"Do  you  see  an  iron  bar  anywhere,  Raquel,  in 
the  bushes  there  on  the  left?" 

She  ran  to  the  side  of  the  tunnel,  which  still 
arched  above  them  here.  Silencio  was  close  to 
her,  and  at  once  laid  his  hand  upon  the  strong  piece 
of  metal.  He  sprang  back  to  the  door,  and  slipped 
the  bar  into  the  rust-worn  but  still  faithful  hasps. 

Then  he  turned,  seized  her  hand  again,  and  led 
her  hurriedly  along  between  the  high  banks.  It 
was  still  dark  where  they  stood,  so  overgrown  was 
the  deep  cut,  but  Silencio  knew  the  way.  He 
took  the  lantern  from  Raquel's  hand,  extinguished 

257 


SAN  ISIDEO 

it,  and  set  it  upon  the  ground.  "We  shall  need 
this  no  more,"  he  said. 

The  trees  and  vines  growing  from  the  embank 
ment,  which  nearly  closed  overhead,  were  inter 
woven  like  a  green  basket-work,  and  almost  shut 
out  the  daylight.  Silencio  took  Raquel's  hand  in 
his  and  led  her  along  the  narrow  path.  The  light 
became  stronger  with  every  step. 

Suddenly  Raquel  stopped  short. 

"What  was  that,  Gil?" 

"What,  dearest?" 

"That!  Do  you  not  hear  it?  It  sounds  like  a 
knocking  behind  us." 

Silencio  stood  still  for  a  moment,  listening  to  the 
sounds. 

"Yes,"  he  said  at  last,  "I  do  hear  it.  It  is  some 
of  those  villains  pursuing  us.  Hasten,  Raquel. 
When  they  find  the  door  is  closed,  they  will  return 
to  the  casa  to  cut  off  our  retreat." 

Raquel  found  time  to  say: 

"And  the  poor  servants  left  behind,  will  they — " 

"They  are  safe,  child.  You  are  the  quarry  they 
seek.  Escobeda  does  not  exchange  shots  to  no 
purpose." 

A  few  more  steps,  and  Silencio  parted  the  thicket 
ahead.  Raquel  passed  through  in  obedience  to  his 
commanding  nod,  and  emerged  into  the  blinding 
glare  of  a  tropical  morning.  Beneath  her  feet  was 

258 


SAN  IS1DRO 

the  hot,  fine  sand  of  the  seashore.  A  few  yards 
away  a  small  boat  was  resting,  her  stern  just  washed 
by  the  ripples.  Raquel  turned  and  looked  back 
ward.  The  mass  of  trees  and  vines  hid  the  bank 
from  view,  the  bank  in  its  turn  concealed  the  casa. 
As  she  stood  thus  she  heard  again  a  slow  knocking, 
but  much  fainter  than  before.  It  was  like  the  dis 
tant  sound  of  heavy  blows. 

"Thank  God!  they  are  knocking  still,"  said 
Silencio.  "Run  to  the  boat,  child,  quickly." 

Raquel  shrank  with  fear. 

"They  will  see  me  from  the  house,"  she  said. 

"You  cannot  see  the  beach  from  the  casa;  have 
you  forgotten?  Run,  run!  For  the  boat!  the 
boat!" 

Obeying  him,  she  sped  across  the  sand  to  the  lit 
tle  skiff. 

"The  middle  seat!"  he  cried. 

He  followed  her  as  swiftly,  and  with  all  his 
strength  pushed  the  light  weight  out  from  the 
shore,  springing  in  as  the  bow  parted  with  the 
beach.  The  thrust  outward  brought  them  within 
sight  of  the  house.  For  a  moment  they  were  not 
discovered,  and  he  had  shipped  the  oars  and  was 
rowing  rapidly  toward  the  open  sea  before  they  were 
seen. 

It  required  a  moment  for  the  miscreants  to  appre 
ciate  the  fact  that  the  two  whom  they  had  thought 

259 


SAN  ISIDEO 

hidden  in  the  house  had  escaped  in  some  unknown 
way.  Then  a  cry  of  rage  went  up  from  many 
throats,  and  one  man  raised  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder, 
but  the  peon  next  him  threw  up  the  muzzle,  and 
the  shot  flew  harmless  in  the  air. 

It  is  one  thing  to  fire  at  the  bidding  of  a  master, 
on  whose  shoulders  will  rest  all  the  blame,  and 
quite  another  to  aim  deliberately  at  a  person  who 
is  quite  within  his  rights — you  peon,  he  gran* 
Senor.  Escobeda  was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  There 
was  no  one  to  give  an  order,  to  take  responsibility. 
The  force  was  demoralized.  The  men  formed  in  a 
small  group,  and  watched  the  little  skiff  as  it  shot 
out  to  sea,  impelled  by  the  powerful  arm  and  will 
of  Silencio.  As  he  rowed  Silencio  strained  his 
eyes  northward,  and  perceived  what  was  not  as  yet 
visible  from  the  shore.  He  saw  the  Coco  just 
rounding  the  further  point — distant,  it  is  true,  but 
safety  for  Raquel  lay  in  her  black  and  shining  hull. 

When  old  Guillermina  saw  Don  Gil  and  the 
Senora  retreat  from  the  patio  and  cross  the  large 
chamber,  she  knew  at  once  their  errand.  Had  she 
not  lived  here  since  the  days  of  the  old  Don 
Oviedo?  What  tales  could  she  not  have  told  of 
the  secret  passage  to  the  sea!  But  her  lips  were 
sealed.  Pride  of  family,  the  family  of  her  master, 
was  the  padlock  which  kept  them  silent.  How 

260 


SAN  ISIDRO 

many  lips  have  been  glued  loyally  together  for  that 
same  reason ! 

As  Guillermina  crossed  the  large  chamber  she 
heard  the  blows  raining  upon  the  outer  shutters 
and  the  large  door.  She  heard  Escobeda's  voice 
calling,  "Open!  open!"  as  he  pounded  the  stout 
planking  with  the  butt  end  of  his  rifle.  The  firing 
had  ceased.  Even  had  it  not,  Guillermina  knew 
well  that  the  shots  were  not  aimed  at  her.  She  had 
withstood  a  siege  in  the  old  Don  Oviedo's  time, 
and  again  in  the  time  of  the  old  Don  Gil,  and  from 
the  moment  that  Silencio  had  brought  his  young 
wife  home  she  had  expected  a  third  raid  upon  the 
casa. 

Guillermina  walked  in  a  leisurely  manner.  She 
passed  through  the  intervening  passages,  and  found 
the  counting-house  door  open.  This  she  had 
hardly  expected.  She  joyously  entered  the  room 
and  closed  the  door.  Then  her  native  lassitude 
gave  way  to  a  haste  to  which  her  unaccustomed 
members  almost  refused  their  service.  She  quickly 
drew  the  rug  over  the  sunken  trap-door,  smoothed 
the  edges,  and  rearranged  the  room,  so  that  it 
appeared  as  if  it  had  not  lately  been  entered.  It 
was  her  step  overhead  which  Don  Gil  and  Raquel 
had  heard  at  first,  and  which  had  caused  them  so 
much  uneasiness. 

As  Guillermina  turned  to  leave  the  room,  she 
261 


SAN  ISIDRO 

heard  a  crash.  Escobeda,  having  failed  to  break 
in  the  great  entrance  door,  had,  with  the  aid  of 
some  of  his  men,  pried  off  a  shutter.  The  band 
came  pouring  into  the  house  and  ran  through  all 
the  rooms,  seeking  for  the  flown  birds.  As  Guil- 
lermina  opened  the  door  of  the  counting-house  to 
come  out,  key  in  hand,  she  met  Escobeda  upon 
the  threshold.  His  face  was  livid.  He  held  his 
machete  over  his  head  as  if  to  strike. 

"So  this  is  their  hiding-place,"  he  screamed  in 
her  ear. 

He  rushed  past  her,  and  entered  the  counting- 
house.  Its  quiet  seclusion  and  peaceful  appearance 
filled  him  with  astonishment,  and  caused  him  to  stop 
short.  But  he  was  not  deceived  for  long.  He 
tore  away  the  green  hangings,  hoping  to  find  a 
door.  Instead  a  wall  of  iron  stared  him  in  the 
face.  He  ran  all  round  the  room,  feeling  of  the 
panels  or  plates,  but  nowhere  could  he  discover 
the  opening  which  he  sought.  Each  plate  was 
firmly  screwed  and  riveted  to  its  neighbour.  He 
turned  and  shook  his  fist  in  Guillermina's  face. 

"You  shall  tell  me  where  they  have  gone,"  he 
howled,  in  fury,  and  then  poured  forth  a  volley  of 
oaths  and  obscenities,  such  as  no  one  but  a  Span 
iard  could  have  combined  in  so  few  sentences. 

Guillermina  faced  him,  her  hands  on  her  fat 
hips. 

262 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"The  Senor  should  not  excite  himself.  It  is 
bad  to  excite  oneself.  There  was  the  woodcutter 
over  at  La  Floresta — ' ' 

"To  hell  with  the  woodcutter!  Where  is  that 
Truhan?"  Then  Escobeda  began  to  curse  Guil- 
lermina.  He  cursed  her  until  he  foamed  at  the 
mouth,  his  gold  earrings  shaking  in  his  ears,  his 
eyes  bloodshot,  his  lips  sending  flecks  of  foam  upon 
her  gown.  He  cursed  her  father  and  her  mother, 
her  grandfather  and  her  grandmother,  her  great 
grandfather  and  great-grandmother,  which  was  quite 
a  superfluity  in  the  way  of  cursing,  as  Guillermina 
had  no  proof  positive  that  she  had  ever  possessed 
more  than  one  parent.  He  cursed  her  brothers  and 
sisters,  her  aunts,  her  uncles,  her  cousins,  her 
nephews  and  nieces. 

"The  Senor  wastes  some  very  good  breath," 
remarked  Guillermina  in  a  perfectly  imperturbable 
manner.  "I  have  none  of  those  people." 

Escobeda  turned  on  her  in  renewed  frenzy.  The 
vile  words  rolled  out  of  his  mouth  like  a  stream 
over  high  rocks.  He  took  a  fresh  breath  and 
cursed  anew.  As  he  had  begun  with  her  ancestors, 
so  he  continued  with  her  descendants,  the  children 
whom  she  had  borne,  and  those  whom  she  was 
likely  to  bear.  . 

'The  good  God  save  us!"  ejaculated  old  Guiller 
mina.     And  still  Escobeda  cursed  on,  his  fury  now 

263 


SAN  ISIDRO 

falling  upon  her  relationships  in  all  their  ramifica 
tions,  and  in  all  their  branches. 

"Ay  de  mi!  The  gracious  Senor  wastes  his 
time.  If  the  gracious  Senor  should  rest  a  little, 
he  could  start  with  a  fresh  breath." 

As  Guillermina  spoke,  she  rearranged  the  curtain 
folds,  smoothed  and  shook  the  silken  pillows,  and 
laid  them  straight  and  in  place.  She  kept  her  sta 
tion  as  near  the  middle  of  the  sunken  door  as  pos 
sible. 

Again  he  thundered  at  her  the  question  as  to 
where  the  fugitives  had  found  refuge.  Guillermina, 
brave  outwardly,  was  trembling  inwardly  for  the 
safety  of  her  beloved  Don'  Gil.  The  young  Senora 
was  all  very  well,  she  might  grow  to  care  for  her  in 
time,  but  her  little  Gil,  whom  she  had  taken  from 
the  doctor's  arms,  whom  she  had  nursed  on  her 
knee  with  her  own  little  Antonio,  who  lay  under 
the  trees  on  the  hillside  yonder — she  must  gain 
time. 

"Does  not  the  Senor  know  that  the  Senor  Don 
Gil  Silencio-y-Estrada  and  the  little  Senora  have 
gone  to  heaven?" 

Escobeda  stopped  short  in  his  vituperation. 

"Dead?  He  was  afraid,  then!  He  killed  her." 
Escobeda  laughed  cruelly.  "If  I  have  lost  her,  so 
has  he." 

"Ay,  ay,  they  have  flown  away,  flown  to  heaven, 
264 


SAN  ISIDRO 

the  Senores.  The  good  God  cares  for  his  own. 
I  wonder  now  who  cares  for  the  Senor  Esco- 
beda!" 

With  the  scream  of  a  wild  beast  he  flew  at  her, 
and  she,  fearing  positive  injury,  sprang  aside. 
Escobeda's  spur  caught  in  the  rug  and  tore  it  from 
its  place  on  the  floor.  He  stumbled  and  fell,  pull 
ing  the  green  and  white  carpet  after  him.  Conceal 
ment  was  no  longer  possible;  the  trap-door  was 
laid  bare.  With  a  fiendish  cry  of  delight  he  flew 
at  the  ring  in  the  sunken  door 

' '  To  hell !  to  hell ! "  he  shouted.  ' '  That  is  where 
they  have  gone;  not  to  heaven,  but  to  hell." 

Escobeda  had  heard  rumours  all  his  life  of  the 
secret  passage  to  the  sea — the  passage  which  had 
never  been  located  by  the  curious.  At  last  the 
mystery  was  solved.  He  raised  the  door,  and 
without  a  word  to  Guillermina,  plunged  into  the 
black  depths.  The  absence  of  a  light  was  lost  sight 
of  by  him  in  his  unreasoning  rage.  Almost  before 
his  fingers  had  disappeared  from  view,  Guillermina 
had  lowered  the  trap-door  into  its  place  in  the  most 
gentle  manner. 

If  one  is  performing  a  good  action,  it  is  best  to 
make  as  little  noise  about  it  as  possible.  As  she 
fitted  the  great  iron  bar  across  the  opening,  there 
came  a  knocking  upon  the  under  side  of  the  iron 
square. 

265 


SAN   ISIDRO 

"Give  me  a  light!  A  light!  you  she-devil!  A 
light,  I  say." 

Guillermina  went  softly  to  the  door  of  the  count 
ing-house  and  closed  it  to  prevent  intrusion.  She 
could  hear  Escobeda's  followers  running  riotously 
all  over  the  casa.  Her  time  would  be  short,  that 
she  knew.  She  knelt  down  on  the  floor  and  put 
her  lips  close  to  the  crack  in  the  trap-door. 

"And  he  would  curse  my  mother,  would  the 
Sefior!  And  my  little  Antonio,  who  lies  buried  on 
the  hill  yonder." 

"A  light!"  he  shouted,  "a  light!  she-devil,  a 
light,  I  say!" 

"May  the  Sefior  see  no  light  till  he  sees  the 
flames  of  hell,"  answered  Guillermina.  "The 
Sefior  must  pardon  me,  but  that  is  my  respectful 
wish." 

She  smoothed  the  innocent-looking  carpet  in 
place,  replaced  the  chairs,  and  went  out,  locking  the 
door  after  her. 

"Let  us  hope,"  said  she  quietly,  "that  my 
muchacho  has  barred  the  door  at  the  further  end  of 
the  passage."  Looking  for  a  wide  crack,  she  found 
it,  and  dropped  the  key  through  it. 

This  is  why  the  disused  passage  is  always  called 
Escobeda's  Walk. 

Sometimes,  when  Don  Gil  and  the  little  Senora  sit 
and  sip  the  straw-coloured  tea  at  five  o'clock  of  an 

266 


SAN  ISIDRO 

afternoon,  the  teapot,  grown  more  battered  and 
dingy,  the  lid  fitting  less  securely  than  of  yore,  the 
Senora  sets  down  her  cup,  and  taking  little  Raquel 
upon  her  knee,  holds  her  close  to  her  heart,  and 
says: 

"Do  you  hear  that  knocking,  Gil?  There  is  cer 
tainly  a  rapping  on  the  counting-house  floor." 

"I  hear  nothing,"  answers  Silencio,  as  he  gives 
a  large  lump  of  sugar  to  the  grandso'n  of  the  brown 
lizard.  And  for  that  matter,  there  is  an  ancient 
proverb  which  says  that  "None  are  so  deaf  as  those 
who  will  not  hear." 


267 


XVIII 

Uncle  Adan  had  been  taken  ill.  He  was  suffer 
ing  from  the  exhalations  of  the  swamp  land  through 
which  he  must  travel  to  clear  the  river  field.  He 
had  that  and  the  cacao  patch  both  on  his  mind. 
There  was  a  general  air  of  carelessness  about  the 
plantation  of  San  Isidro  which  had  never  obtained 
before  since  Agueda's  memory  of  the  place.  The 
peons  and  workmen  lounged  about  the  outhouses 
and  stables,  lazily  doing  the  work  that  was  abso 
lutely  needed,  but  there  was  no  one  to  give  orders, 
and  there  was  no  one  who  seemed  to  long  for 
them.  It  appeared  to  be  a  general  holiday. 

Uncle  Adan  lay  and  groaned  in  his  bed  at  the 
further  end  of  the  veranda,  and  wondered  if  the 
cacao  seed  had  spoiled,  or  if  it  would  hold  good  for 
another  day.  When  Agueda  begged  him  to  get 
some  sleep,  or  to  take  his  quinine  in  preparation 
for  the  chill  that  must  come,  he  only  turned  his 
face  to  the  wall  and  groaned  that  the  place  was 
going  to  rack  and  ruin  since  those  northerners  had 
come  down  to  the  island.  "I  have  seen  the  Senor 
plant  the  cacao,"  said  Agueda.  "He  had  the 

268 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Palandrez  and  the  Troncha  and  the  Garcia-Garcito 
with  him.  He  ordered,  and  they  worked.  I  went 
with  them  sometimes."  Agueda  sighed  as  she 
remembered  those  happy  days. 

Uncle  Adan  turned  his  aching  bones  over,  so 
that  he  could  raise  his  weary  eyes  to  Agueda's. 

"That  is  all  true,"  he  said.  "The  Sefior  can 
plant,  no  Colono  better.  But  one  cannot  plant  the 
cacao  and  play  the  guitar  at  one  and  the  same 
time." 

Agueda  hung  her  head  as  if  the  blame  of  right 
belonged  to  her. 

"You  act  as  if  I  blamed  you,  and  I  do,"  said 
Uncle  Adan,  shivering  in  the  preliminary  throes  of 
his  hourly  chill.  "You  who  have  influence  over 
the  Sefior!  You  should  exert  it  at  once.  The 
place  is  going  to  rack  and  ruin,  I  tell  you!" 

Agueda  turned  and  went  out  of  the  door.  She 
was  tired  of  the  subject.  There  was  no  use  in 
arguing  with  Uncle  Adan,  either  with  regard  to  the 
quinine  or  the  visitors.  She  went  to  her  own 
room,  and  took  her  hat  from  the  peg.  When  again 
she  came  out  upon  the  veranda,  she  had  a  long 
stick  in  one  hand  and  a  pail  in  the  other.  Then 
she  visited  the  kitchen. 

"Juana, "  she  said,  "fill  this  pail  with  water  and 
tell  Pablo  and  Eduardo  Juan  that  I  need  them  at 
once." 

269 


SAN  ISIDRO 

She  waited  while  this  message  was  sent  to  the 
recalcitrant  peons,  who  lounged  lazily  toward  the 
house  at  her  summons. 

"De  Senorit*  send  fo'  me?"  asked  Pablo. 

"I  sent  for  both  of  you,"  said  Agueda.  "Why 
have  you  done  no  cacao  planting  to-day?" 

"Ain'  got  no  messages,"  replied  Pablo,  who 
seemed  to  have  taken  upon  himself  the  role  of  gen 
eral  responder. 

"You  know  very  well  that  it  is  the  messages  that 
make  no  difference.  Bring  your  machetes,  both  of 
you,"  ordered  Agueda,  "and  come  with  me  to  the 
hill  patch." 

For  answer  the  peons  drew  their  machetes  lazily 
from  their  sheaths. 

"I  knew  that  you  had  them,  of  course.  Come, 
then!  I  am  going  to  the  field.  Where  is  the 
cacao,  Pablo?" 

"Wheah  Ah  leff  'em,"  answered  Pablo. 

"And  where  is  that?" 

"In  de  hill  patch,  Seno'it'." 

"And  did  some  one,  perhaps,  mix  the  wood 
ashes  with  them?" 

Pablo  turned  to  Eduardo  Juan,  open-mouthed, 
as  if  to  say,  "Did  you?" 

Agueda  also  turned  to  Eduardo  Juan.  "Well! 
well!"  she  exclaimed  impatiently,  "were  the  wood 
ashes  mixed,  then,  with  the  cacao  seeds?" 

270 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Eduardo  Juan  shifted  from  one  foot  to  the  other, 
looked  away  at  the  river,  and  said,  "Ah  did  not 
ogsarve. ' ' 

"You  did  not  observe.  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear! 
Why  can  you  never  do  as  the  Senor  tells  you? 
What  will  become  of  the  plantation  if  you  do  not 
obey  what  the  Senor  tells  you?" 

"Seno*  ain'  say  nuttin',"  said  Eduardo  Juan, 
with  a  sly  smile. 

Agueda  looked  away.  "I  am  not  speaking  of 
the  Senor.  I  mean  the  Senor  Adan,"  said  she. 
"You  know  that  he  has  charge  of  all;  that  he  had 
charge  long  before — come,  then!  let  us  go." 

As  Agueda  descended  the  steps  of  the  veranda, 
she  heard  Beltran's  voice  calling  to  her.  She 
turned  and  looked  back.  Don  Beltran  was  stand 
ing  in  the  open  door  of  the  salon.  His  pleasant 
smile  seemed  to  say  that  he  had  just  been  indulg 
ing  in  agreeable  words,  agreeable  thoughts. 

"Agueda,"  said  Beltran,  "bring  my  mother's 
cross  here,  will  you?  I  want  to  show  it  to  my 
cousin." 

Agueda  turned  and  came  slowly  up  the  steps 
again.  She  went  at  once  to  her  own  room  and 
opened  the  drawer  where  the  diamonds  lay  in  their 
ancient  case  of  velvet  and  leather.  The  key  which 
opened  this  drawer  hung  with  the  household  bunch 
at  her  waist.  The  drawer  had  not  been  opened  for 

271 


SAN  ISIDRO 

some  time,  and  the  key  grated  rustily  in  the  lock. 
Agueda  opened  the  drawer,  took  the  familiar  thing 
in  her  hand,  and  returning  along  the  veranda, 
handed  it  to  Beltran.  Then  she  ran  quickly  down 
the  steps  to  join  the  waiting  peons.  But  Felisa's 
appreciative  scream  as  the  case  was  opened  reached 
her,  as  well  as  the  words  which  followed. 

"And  you  let  that  girl  take  charge  of  such  a 
magnificent  thing  as  that!  Why,  cousin,  it  must 
mean  a  fortune." 

"Who?  Agueda?"  said  Beltran.  "I  would  trust 
Agueda  with  all  that  I  possess.  Agueda  knew  my 
mother.  She  was  here  in  my  mother's  time." 

The  motherly  instinct,  which  is  in  the  ascendant 
with  most  women,  arose  within  the  heart  of  Agueda. 

"Come,  Palandrez,  come,  Eduardo  Juan,"  said 
she.  They  could  hardly  keep  pace  with  her.  If 
there  was  no  one  else  to  work  for  him  while  he 
dallied  with  his  pretty  cousin,  she  would  see  that 
his  interests  did  not  suffer. 

"Why,  then,  do  you  not  go  up  there  in  the  cool 
of  the  evening,  Palandrez?  You  could  get  an 
hour's  work  done  easily  after  the  sun  goes  behind 
the  little  rancho  hill." 

"It  is  scairt  up  deyah,"  said  Palandrez.  "De 
ghos'  ob  de  ole  Senora  waak  an'  he  waak.  Ain' 
no  one  offer  deyah  suvvices  up  on  de  hill  when  it 
git  'long  'bout  daak." 

272 


SAN   ISIDRO 

Agueda  went  swiftly  toward  the  hill  patch,  the 
peons  sulkily  following  her.  They  did  not  wish  to 
obey,  but  they  did  not  dare  to  rebel.  Arrived  at 
her  destination,  she  turned  to  Pablo,  who  was  in 
advance  of  Eduardo  Juan. 

"Where,  then,  is  the  pail  of  seed,  Pablo?" 

Pablo,  without  answer,  began  to  send  his  eyes 
roaming  over  and  across  the  field.  Eduardo  Juan, 
preferring  to  think  that  it  was  no  business  of  his, 
leaned  against  a  tree-trunk  and  let  his  eyes  rest  on 
the  ground  at  his  feet.  As  these  two  broken  reeds 
seemed  of  no  practical  use,  Agueda  began  to  skirt 
the  field,  and  soon  she  came  upon  the  pail,  hidden 
behind  a  stump. 

' '  Here  it  is,  Eduardo  Juan, ' '  she  called.  ' '  Begin 
to  dig  your  holes,  you  and  Pablo,  and  I  will — oh!'' 
This  despairing  exclamation  closed  the  sentence, 
and  ended  all  hope  of  work  for  the  day.  Agueda 
saw,  as  she  spoke,  that  the  pail  swarmed  with  ants. 
She  pushed  her  stick  down  among  the  shiny  brown 
seed,  and  discovered  no  preventive  in  the  form  of 
the  necessary  wood  ashes.  The  seed  was  spoiled. 

"It  is  no  use,  Pablo,"  she  said.  "Come  and  see 
these  ants,  you  that  take  no  interest  in  the  good  of 
the  Senor. "  She  turned  and  walked  dejectedly 
down  the  hill.  Pablo  turned  to  Eduardo  Juan. 

He  laughed  under  his  breath. 

"De  Seno'  taike  no  intrus'  in  hees  own  good." 
273 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Seed  come  from  Palmacristi;  mighty  hard  git 
seed  dis  time  o'  yeah,"  answered  Eduardo  Juan, 
with  a  hopeful  chuckle.  If  no  more  seed  were  to 
be  had,  then  no  more  planting  could  be  done. 

Later  in  the  evening,  as  Agueda  went  toward 
the  kitchen,  she  passed  by  Felisa's  doorway.  A 
glimpse  was  forced  upon  her  of  the  interior  of  the 
pretty  room  and  its  occupant.  Felisa  was  seated 
before  the  mirror.  She  had  donned  a  gown  the 
like  of  which  Agueda  had  never  seen.  The  waist 
did  not  come  all  the  way  up  to  the  throat,  but  was 
cut  out  in  a  sort  of  hollow,  before  and  behind,  for 
Agueda  saw  the  shoulders  which  were  toward  her, 
quite  bare  of  covering,  and  in  the  mirror  she 
caught  the  reflection  of  maidenly  charms  which  in 
her  small  world  were  not  a  part  of  daily  exhibit. 
Agueda  stopped  suddenly. 

"Oh,  Senorita!"  she  exclaimed  under  her  breath. 
"Does  the  Senorita  know  that  her  door  is  open? 
Let  me  close  it,  and  the  shutter  on  the  other  side. 
I  will  run  round  there  in  a  minute.  Some  one 
might  see  the  Senorita;  people  may  be  passing  along 
the  veranda  at  any  moment." 

Felisa  gave  a  shrill  and  merry  laugh. 

"People  might  see!  Why,  my  good  girl,  don't 
you  know  that  is  just  why  we  wear  such  gowns, 
that  people  may  see?  Come  and  fasten  this  thing. 
Isn't  it  lovely  against  my  neck?" 

274 


SAN   ISIDRO 

Agueda  could  not  but  admit  to  her  secret  soul 
that  it  was  lovely  against  Felisa's  neck.  But  she 
coloured  as  she  entered  and  closed  the  door  care 
fully  behind  her.  She  had  seen  nothing  like  this, 
except  in  those  abandoned  picture  papers  that  came 
sometimes  from  the  States,  or  from  France,  to 
Don  Beltran,  and  then,  as  often  as  not,  she  hid  them 
that  she  might  not  see  him  looking  at  them.  She 
could  not  bear  to  have  him  look  at  them.  She  felt — 

"Open  the  door,  that's  a  good  girl!  There! 
Are  you  sure  that  the  catch  is  secure?  These 
beauties  were  my  aunt's.  See  how  they  become 
me.  I  would  not  lose  them  for  the  world.  Oh ! 
had  I  only  had  them  before." 

"Are — are — they — has  the  ^Sefior  given  them 
perhaps — to — to — ' ' 

"Well,  not  exactly,  Agueda,  good  girl;  but 
some  day,  who  knows — there!"  Felisa  made  a 
pirouette  and  sank  in  a  low  curtsey  on  the  bare 
floor,  showing  just  the  point  of  a  pink  satin  toe. 
"See  how  they  glitter,  even  in  the  light  of  these 
candles.  Imagine  them  in  a  ball-room — Agueda, 
and  me  in  them!  Now  I  must  go  and  show  my 
cousin.  Open  the  door.  Do  you  not  hear — open 
the — " 

"The  Senorita  is  never  going  to  show  herself  to 
the  Sefior  in  such  a  gown  as  that!  What  will  the 
Sefjor  say?  The  Senorita  will  never—" 

275 


SAN  ISIDRO 

But  Felisa  had  pushed  past  Agueda,  and  was 
half-way  down  the  veranda. 

The  thoughts  that  flashed  through  Agueda's 
mind  were  natural  ones.  She  had  honestly  done 
her  best  to  keep  the  Sefiorita  from  disgracing  her 
self  in  the  Senor's  eyes,  but  she  would  have  her 
way.  She  had  gone  to  her  own  destruction.  There 
was  a  quickening  of  Agueda's  pulses.  Ah!  Now 
he  would  turn  to  her  again.  He  could  not  bear 
any  sign  of  immodesty  in  a  woman.  He  had  often 
said  to  Agueda  that  that  was  her  chief  charm,  her 
modesty.  He  had  called  her  "Little  Prude,"  and 
laughed  when  she  blushed.  Was  it  to  be  won 
dered  at  that  Agueda  rejoiced  at  Felisa's  coming 
defeat,  at  her  imminent  discomfiture,  the  moment 
that  Beltran  should  see  her?  She  stood  in  the 
doorway  of  Felisa's  room,  watching  the  fairy-like 
figure  as  it  lightly  danced  like  a  will-o'-the-wisp 
down  the  dark  veranda's  length,  flashing  out  like 
a  firefly  as  it  passed  an  opening  where  there  was  a 
light  within,  going  out  in  the  darkness  between  the 
doors,  still  keeping  up  its  resemblance  to  the  ignis 
fatuus. 

Before  Felisa  reached  the  salon  Beltran  came  out 
to  discover  why  his  charmer  had  absented  herself 
for  so  long  a  time.  Agueda  caught  the  look  in  his 
eyes,  as  he  stood,  almost  aghast  at  the  meretri 
cious  loveliness  of  the  little  creature  before  him. 

276 


SAN  ISIDRO 

He  gazed  and  gazed  at  her.  Was  it  in  disgust? 
Alas!  no.  PoorAgueda!  Rapture  shone  from  his 
eyes.  He  opened  his  arms.  But  Felisa  eluded 
him  and  danced  round  the  corner  of  the  veranda. 

"You  pretty  thing!  You  pretty,  you  lovely, 
you  adorable  thing!"  she  heard  Beltran  exclaim, 
as  utterly  fascinated,  he  followed  the  small  siren 
in  her  tantalizing  flight. 


277 


XIX 

That  succession  of  events  designated  as  Time 
passed  rapidly  or  slowly,  as  was  the  fate  of  the 
beneficiary  or  the  sufferer  from  its  flight  or  its 
delay.  In  some  cases  the  milestones  seemed 
leagues  apart,  in  others  but  a  short  foot  of  space 
separated  them. 

To  Beltran  the  hours  of  the  night  dragged  slowly 
by,  when,  as  was  often  the  case,  he  lay  half  awake 
in  a  delirious  dream  of  joy,  longing  for  dawn  to 
break  the  gloom  that  he  might  come  again  within 
the  magic  of  that  presence  which  had  changed  the 
entire  world  for  him. 

To  Agueda  the  hours  of  the  night  flew  on  wings. 
As  she  heard  the  crowing  of  the  near  and  distant 
cocks  answering  each  other  from  colonia  or  river 
patch,  or  conuco,  she  sighed  to  herself.  "It  is 
nearly  four  o'clock,  soon  it  will  be  five,  then  six, 
and  the  next  stroke,  oh,  God!  seven!"  For  then 
would  the  cheery  voice  which  could  no  longer  wait 
call  from  the  veranda,  "How  are  you  this  morning, 
little  cousin?"  and  the  answer  from  that  dainty 
interior  would  be,  "Quite  well,  Cousin  Beltran,  if 


SAN   ISIDRO 

the  cocks  could  be  persuaded  not  to  roost  directly 
under  the  floor  of  my  room,  and  keep  me  awake 
half  the  night." 

Then  Agueda  must  attend  to  the  early  breakfast. 
Trays  must  be  sent  to  the  rooms  of  the  visitors, 
and  for  two  hours  wduld  the  Sefior  impatiently  pace 
the  veranda  or  the  home  enclosure,  awaiting  the 
reappearance  of  his  goddess. 

There  was  no  sign  of  the  wearing  effect  of  sleep 
lessness  on  the  shell-like  face  when  that  important 
little  lady  appeared  upon  the  veranda,  clothed  in 
some  wonderful  arrangement  of  diaphanous  mate 
rial,  which  was  to  Beltran's  vision  as  the  stage  man 
ager's  dream  of  the  unattainable  in  costume.  With 
the  joyous  greeting  there  was  offered  a  jasmine  or 
allemanda  flower  or  bougainvellia  bracht  for  the 
girdle  bouquet,  which  often  Beltran  assisted  in 
arranging,  as  was  a  cousin's  right;  and  in  return,  if 
Felisa  was  very  good-natured,  there  followed  the 
placing  of  a  corresponding  bud  or  blossom  in  Bel 
tran's  buttonhole  by  those  small,  plump  fingers, 
loaded  down  with  their  wealth  of  shining  rings. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  Agueda  received  a  shock 
which,  as  a  preliminary  to  her  final  fate,  more  than 
all  conveyed  to  her  mind  how  things  were  going. 
It  was  early  morning.  Juana  had  brought  to 
Agueda's  room  the  fresh  linen  piled  high  in  the  old 
yellow  basket.  Together  they  laid  the  articles  on 

279 


SAN   ISIDRO 

chairs  and  table,  selecting  from  the  pile  those  that 
needed  a  few  stitches.  Agueda  sat  herself  down 
by  the  window  to  mend.  She  took  up  her  needle 
and  threaded  it,  then  let  her  hands  fall  in  her  lap, 
as  had  become  her  custom  of  late.  Her  head  was 
turned  to  the  grove  outside,  »and  her  gaze  rested 
among  the  leaves  and  penetrated  their  vistas  without 
perceiving  anything  in  grove  or  trocha. 

She  had  heard  Beltran  moving  about  in  his  room, 
but  he  had  thrown  the  door  wide  and  gone 
whistling  down  the  veranda  toward  that  latest  goal 
of  his  hopes.  She  heard  the  gay  greeting,  and  the 
distant  faint  response,  then  a  laugh  at  some  sally 
of  fun.  Agueda  looked  wearily  at  the  pile  of 
starched  cleanliness,  and  took  up  her  work  again. 
How  hateful  the  drudgery  seemed !  Before  this — 
in  other  days — time  was — when — 

It  was  a  homely  bit  of  sewing,  a  shirt  of  the 
Sefior's,  which  needed  buttons.  This  recalled  to 
Agueda  that  the  last  week's  linen  had  been  neg 
lected  by  her.  It  had  been  put  away  as  it  came 
from  Juana's  hands.  With  sudden  decision  she 
determined  now  to  face  the  inevitable,  to  accept 
the  world  as  it  had  become  to  her,  all  in  a  moment, 
as  it  were. 

Agueda  arose  and  dropped  the  linen  from  her 
lap  to  the  floor.  She  had  never  been  taught  care 
ful  ways.  All  that  she  knew  of  such  things  had 

280 


SAN  ISIDRO 

come  to  her  by  intuition,  and  her  action  showed 
the  dominant  strain  of  her  blood — not  the  exact 
ness  of  a  trained  servant,  but  the  carelessness  of  a 
petted  child  of  fortune.  She  stepped  over  the 
white  mass  at  her  feet  and  went  to  the  door  that 
led  from  her  room  to  Beltran's.  She  walked  as 
one  who  has  come  to  a  sudden  determination.  Of 
late  she  had  not  been  there,  except  to  perform  some 
such  service  as  the  present  moment  demanded. 
She  seized  the  knob  in  her  hand,  and  turned  it 
round,  pressing  the  weight  of  her  young  body 
against  the  door.  Instead  of  bursting  hurriedly 
into  the  room,  as  was  her  wont,  she  found  the  door 
unyielding.  Again  she  tried  it,  twisting  the  knob 
this  way  and  that. 

She  was  about  to  call  upon  one  of  the  men  to 
come  to  her  aid,  as  the  door  had  stuck  fast,  when 
suddenly  she  stopped,  standing  where  the  exertion 
had  left  her.  Her  colour  fled,  her  lips  grew  blood 
less,  she  leaned  dizzy  and  sick  against  the  door. 
On  the  floor,  at  her  feet,  she  had  caught  sight  of  a 
small  shaving  that  had  pushed  itself  through  the 
crack  underneath.  She  put  her  hand  to  her  side 
as  if  a  physical  pain  had  seized  her.  She  ran  to 
the  door  of  her  room  which  opened  upon  the  outer 
and  more  secluded  veranda.  Passing  through  this, 
she  walked  with  trembling  steps  to  the  doorway  of 
Beltran's  room.  She  could  hear  his  gay  badinage 

281 


SAN  ISIDRO 

down  at  the  end  of  the  house,  where  she  knew 
that  Felisa  was  sipping  her  chocolate  inside  her 
room,  while  he  called  impatiently  to  know  when 
she  would  be  ready  for  the  excursion  of  the  day. 

Agueda  entered  Beltran's  room  and  walked 
swiftly  to  the  communicating  door.  Ah!  it  was 
as  she  had  feared.  Some  shavings  upon  the  floor, 
and  a  new  bolt,  put  there  she  knew  not  when,  per 
haps  when  she  was  up  in  the  field  on  the  previous 
day,  attested  to  the  verity  of  her  suspicion.  What 
did  Beltran  fear?  That,  remembering  the  old-time 
love  and  confidence,  she  should  take  advantage  of 
it  and  of  her  near  proximity,  and  when  all  the 
colonia  slept,  go  to  him  and  endeavour  to  recall 
those  past  days,  try  to  rekindle  the  love  so  nearly 
dead?  Nearly  dead!  It  must  be  quite  so,  when 
he  could  remind  her  thus  cruelly,  if  silently,  that  a 
new  order  of  things  now  reigned  at  San  Isidro. 

Agueda  appreciated,  now  perhaps  for  the  first 
time  fully,  that  her  life  had  changed,  that  she  had 
become  now  as  the  Nadas  and  the  Anetas  of  this 
world.  She  closed  her  lips  firmly  as  this  thought 
came  to  her.  Well,  if  it  were  so,  she  must  bear  it. 
Like  Aneta,  she  had  not  been  "smart,"  but  unlike 
the  Anetas  of  this  life,  she  would  learn  something 
from  her  misfortune,  and  be  henceforth  self-respect 
ing,  so  far  as  this  great  and  overwhelming  blow 
would  allow.  Never  again  should  Beltran  feel  that 

283 


SAN   ISIDRO 

he  had  the  right  to  bestow  upon  her  a  touch  or  a 
caress,  however  delicate,  however  gentle.  They 
were  separated  now  for  good  and  all.  She  saw  it 
as  she  had  never  seen  it  before.  All  along  she  had 
been  hoping  against  hope.  She  had  constantly 
remembered  Beltran's  words  that  first  week  of 
Felisa's  stay:  "They  will  be  going  home  soon,  and 
then  all  will  be  as  before."  She  saw  now  that 
Beltran  had  deceived  himself,  even  while  he  was 
deceiving  her.  He  could  not  turn  them  out,  as  he 
had  once  said  to  her,  but  he  had  now  no  wish  to 
turn  them  out,  nor  did  they  wish  to  go.  He  was 
lost  to  her,  but  even  so,  with  the  memory  of  what 
had  been,  Beltran  should  respect  her.  He  should 
find  that,  as  she  was  not  his  chattel,  she  would  not 
be  his  plaything  while  he  made  love  to  that  other 
respectable  girl,  who  would  tolerate  no  advances 
which  were  not  preceded  by  a  ceremony  and  the 
blessing  of  the  church.  Foolish,  foolish  Agueda! 
Had  she  been  "smart,"  she  might  have  welcomed 
Felisa  as  her  cousin,  instead  of  appearing  as  the 
slighted  thing  she  now  felt  herself  to  be.  And 
then,  again,  her  soul  rebelled  at  such  a  view  of  the 
case.  His  wife!  What  humiliation  were  hers  to 
be  Beltran's  wife,  and  see  what  she  saw  now  every 
day,  the  proof  of  his  love  for  this  fair-haired  cousin 
of  his,  while  she,  his  wife,  looked  on  helpless. 
Then,  indeed,  would  she  have  been  in  his  power. 

283 


SAN   ISIDRO 

Now  she  was  free — free  from  him,  free  to  respect 
herself,  even  in  her  shame. 

As  Felisa  has  been  likened  to  a  garden  escape  in 
point  of  looks,  so  might  one  liken  Agueda  to  a 
garden  escape  in  point  of  what  people  designate  as 
morals.  Agueda  had  never  heard  of  morals  as 
such.  She  had  had  no  teaching,  only  the  one 
warning  which  Nada  had  given  her,  and  that,  she 
considered,  she  had  followed  to  the  letter. 

Agueda  had  stood  intrenched  within  a  garden 
whose  soil  was  virtue.  She  did  not  gaze  with  curi 
osity,  nor  did  she  care  to  look,  over  the  palings  into 
the  lane  which  ran  just  outside.  She  stood  tall  and 
splendid  as  a  young  hollyhock,  welcoming  the  sun 
and  the  dew  that  Heaven  sent  down  upon  her  proud 
young  head.  But  though  fate  had  surrounded  her 
with  this  environment,  whose  security  she  had 
never  questioned,  her  inheritance  had  placed  her 
near  the  palings.  Those  other  great  white  flowers 
that  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  garden  could  never 
come  to  disaster.  But  Agueda,  unwittingly,  had 
been  thrust  to  the  wall.  Love's  hand  had  pushed 
itself  between  the  palings  of  the  fence  that  sur 
rounded  her  garden  and  had  bent  the  proud  stalk 
and  drawn  it  through  into  the  outer  lane.  While 
Beltran  showed  his  love  for  her,  she  did  not  feel 
that  she  had  escaped  from  her  secure  stand  inside. 
Her  roots  were  strong  and  embedded  in  the  soil  of 


SAN  ISIDRO 

virtue,  and  wanton  love  would  never  find  a  place 
within  her  thoughts  or  feelings.  She  did  not  realise 
the  loss  of  dignity.  "All  for  love,"  had  been  her 
text  and  creed.  The  remedy,  if  remedy  were 
needed,  had  been  close  at  hand.  It  had  been 
offered  her.  She  had  only  to  stretch  out  her  hand 
and  take  it,  and  draw  back  within  her  garden, 
showing  no  bruise  or  wound,  but  happy  in  that  she 
could  still  rear  herself  straight  and  proud  among  the 
company  of  uninjured  stalks.  But  though  the 
remedy  had  been  at  hand,  Agueda  had  not  grasped  it 
with  due  haste.  Unmindful  of  self,  she  had  allowed 
the  opportunity  to  escape  her,  and  now  she  could 
not  spring  back  among  those  other  blooms  whose 
freshness  had  never  been  tarnished.  Alas!  She 
found  herself  still  in  the  muddy  lane.  She  had 
been  plucked  and  worn  and  tossed  down  into  the 
rut  along  the  roadside,  where  she  must  forever  lie, 
limp  and  faded. 

What  boots  it  to  dwell  upon  the  sufferings  of  a 
breaking  heart?  Hearts  must  ache  and  break,  just 
as  souls  must  be  born  and  die,  for  thus  fate  plans, 
and  the  world  goes  on  the  same. 

Things  went  on  the  same  at  the  plantation  of  San 
Isidro.  Don  No6  made  no  motion  to  leave  it,  and 
Felisa  was  happier  than  she  had  ever  been,  and  so 

285 


SAN  ISIDRO 

for  once  was  in  accord  with  her  father.  Beltran 
dreaded  from  day  to  day  the  signal  for  their  depar 
ture,  but  it  did  not  come. 

Uncle  Adan  moved  among  all  these  happenings 
with  a  soul  not  above  cacao  seed  and  banana  suck 
ers.  He  kept  tally  at  the  wagon-train  or  in  the 
field,  and  if  he  thought  of  Agueda  at  all  it  was  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  the  passing  reflection : 
"She  is  as  the  women  of  her  race  have  been.  It  is 
their  fate."  For  she  was  surely  of  that  race, 
though  only  tradition  and  not  appearance  was  wit 
ness  to  the  fact. 

As  for  Agueda,  no  one  about  her  could  say  what 
she  felt  or  thought.  She  remained  by  herself. 
What  she  must  see,  that  she  saw.  That  which  she 
could  keep  from  knowing,  she  dulled  her  mind  to 
receive,  and  refused  to  understand  or  to  accept. 
She  endeavoured  to  become  callous  to  all  impres 
sions.  One  would  have  said  that  she  did  not  care, 
that  her  passing  fancy  for  Beltran,  as  well  as  his 
for  her,  had  died  a  natural  death.  And  yet,  so 
contradictory  is  woman's  nature,  when  placed  in 
such  straits  as  those  which  now  overwhelmed  her, 
that  sometimes  a  fierce  curiosity  awoke  within  her, 
and  then  she  would  pass,  to  all  appearance  on  some 
household  errand  bent,  within  the  near  neighbour 
hood  of  Beltran  and  his  cousin.  They,  grown  care 
less,  as  custom  encourages,  always  gave  her  some- 

286 


SAN  ISIDRO 

thing  to  weep  over.  Then  for  a  time  she 
avoided  them,  only  to  return  again  to  her  foolish 
habit  of  inquiry. 

Agueda  grew  deathly  in  pallor,  and  thin  and 
weary  looking.  Her  face  had  lost  its  brightness. 
Gaze  where  she  would,  she  saw  nothing  upon  her 
horizon  but  dark  and  lowering  clouds.  Sometimes 
she  opened  her  drawer  to  look  for  a  moment  at  the 
sewing,  discarded  now  these  many  weeks,  but  she 
did  no  more  than  glance  at  it.  "It  will  not  be 
needed,"  she  said  to  herself,  with  prophetic  deter 
mination. 

She  might  have  said  with  Mildred:  "I  was  so 
young.  I  loved  him  so.  I  had  no  mother.  God 
forgot  me,  and  I  fell."  As  for  pardon,  Agueda 
did  not  think  of  that.  Consciously  she  had  com 
mitted  no  sin. 

Not  that  she  ever  argued  the  matter  out  with 
herself.  She  would  never  have  thought  of  continu 
ing  Mildred's  plaint,  and  saying,  "There  may  be 
pardon  yet,"  although  she  felt,  if  she  did  not  give 
expression  to  the  feeling  in  words,  "All's  doubt 
beyond.  Surely,  the  bitterness  of  death  is  past." 
There  could  be  no  "blot  on  the  escutcheon"  of 
Agueda.  She  had  no  escutcheon,  as  had  Brown 
ing's  heroine,  though  perhaps  some  drops  of  blood 
as  proud  coursed  through  her  veins.  She  was  not 
introspective.  She  did  not  reason  nor  argue  with 

287 


SAN   ISIDRO 

herself  about  Beltran's  treatment  of  her.  It  was 
only  that  suddenly  the  light  had  become  darkness, 
the  sun  had  grown  black  and  cold.  There  was  no 
more  joy  in  life,  everything  had  finished  for  her. 
Truly,  the  bitterness  of  death  was  past. 


288 


XX 

There  came  an  evening  when  there  were  mutter- 
ings  up  among  the  hills.  The  lightning  pranked 
gayly  about  the  low-hanging  clouds.  Occasionally 
a  report  among  the  far-distant  peaks  broke  the  phe 
nomenal  stillness. 

Felisa  lounged  within  the  hammock  which  swung 
across  the  veranda  corner.  It  was  very  dark,  the 
only  lights  being  those  gratuitous  ones  displayed  by 
the  cucullas  as  they  flew  or  walked  about  by  twos 
or  threes.  At  each  succeeding  flash  of  lightning 
Felisa  showed  increased  nervousness.  Her  hand 
sought  Beltran's,  and  he  took  it  in  his  and  held  it 
close. 

"See,  Felisa!  I  will  get  the  guitar,  and  we  will 
sing.  We  have  not  sung  of  late." 

Felisa  clasped  her  hands  across  her  eyes  and  burst 
into  tears.  Beltran  was  kneeling  at  her  feet  in  an 
instant. 

"What  is  it,  my  Heart?  What  is  it?  Do  not 
sob  so." 

"I  am  afraid,  afraid!"  sobbed  Felisa.  "All  is 
so  mysterious.  There  are  queer  noises  in  the 

289 


SAN  ISIDRO 

ground!      Hear    those     hissing,     rushing    sounds! 
Cousin!  cousin!     What  is  it?" 

"You  are  nervous,  little  one.  We  often  have 
such  storms  in  the  mountains.  It  may  not  come 
this  way  at  all.  See,  here  is  the  guitar." 

He  patted  the  small  fingers  lying  within  his  own, 
then  stretched  out  his  hand  for  the  guitar,  hanging 
near.  He  swept  his  fingers  across  the  strings. 

"What  shall  we  sing?"  he  asked,  with  a  smile  in 
his  voice.  Volatile  as  a  child,  believing  that  which 
she  wished  to  believe,  Felisa  sat  upright  at  the  first 
strain  of  music.  She  laughed,  though  the  drops 
still  stood  upon  her  cheeks,  and  hummed  the  first 
line  of  "La  Verbena  de  la  Paloma. " 

"I  will  be  Susana,"  she  said,  "and  you  shall  be 
Julian.  Come  now,  begin!  'Y  a  los  toros  de  cara- 
banchel,'  "  she  hummed. 

The  faint  light  from  the  lantern  hanging  in  the 
comidor  showed  to  Felisa  the  look  in  Beltran's  eyes 
as  he  bent  toward  her. 

"I  do  not  like  you,  my  little  Susana,"  he  said, 
bending  close  to  her  shoulder,  "because  you  flout 
me,  and  flirt  with  me,  and  break  my  poor  heart  all 
to  little  bits.  Still,  we  will  sing  together  once 
more." 

"Once  more?  Why  do  you  say  once  more, 
cousin?"  asked  Felisa,  apprehensively.  A  shadow 
had  settled  again  over  her  face. 

290 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Did  I?  I  do  not  know.  Come  now,  begin." 
His  voice  was  lowered  almost  to  a  whisper,  as  he 
sang  the  first  lines  of  the  seductive,  monotonous 
little  Spanish  air.  The  accompaniment  thrilled 
softly  from  the  well-tuned  strings. 

"  Donde  vas  con  manton  manila, 
Donde  vas  con  vestido  chine"," 

he  sang. 

Her  high  soprano  answered  him: 

"  A  lucirme  y  d  ver  la  verbena, 
Y  d  meterme  en  la  cama  despues." 

Beltran  resumed: 

"  Porque*  no  has  venido  conmigo 
Cuando  tanto  te  lo  supliqueV' 

"  'Lo  sup — li — que,'  "  he  repeated,  with  slow 
emphasis. 

Felisa  laughed,  shook  her  head  coquettishly,  and 
answered  as  the  song  goes. 

Then, 

"'Quien  es  ese  chico  tan  guapo,' 

sang  Julian.  Who  is  he,  little  Felisa?  Is  there  any 
whom  I  need  fear?"  He  dropped  his  hand  from 
the  strings,  and  seized  the  small  one  so  near  his 
own. 

"I  know  a  great  many  young  men,  cousin,  but  I 
will  not  own  that  there  is  a  guapo  among  them. 
And  this  I  tell  you  now,  that  I  shall  go  to  la  Ver- 

291 


SAN   ISIDRO 

bena  with  whom  I  will,  if  ever  I  return  to  Sunny 

Spain." 

"  Y  a  los  toros  de  carabanchel," 

she  sang  again  defiantly,  her  thin  head-notes  rising 
high  and  clear.  Was  there  no  memory  in  Bel- 
tran's  mind  for  the  contralto  voice  which  had 
sung  the  song  so  often  on  that  very  spot — a  voice 
so  incomparably  sweeter  that  he  who  had  heard 
the  one  must  wonder  how  Beltran  could  tolerate 
the  other. 

Agueda  was  seated  half-way  down  the  veranda 
alone.  She  could  not  sit  with  them,  nor  did  she 
wish  to,  nor  was  she  accustomed  to  companionship 
with  the  serving  class.  She  endeavoured  to  deafen 
her  ears  to  the  sound  of  their  voices.  She  would 
have  gone  to  her  own  room  and  closed  the  door,  but 
it  was  nearer  their  seclusion  than  where  she  sat  at 
present,  and  then — the  air  of  the  room  was  stifling 
on  this  sultry  night.  She  glanced  down  toward 
the  river,  where  the  dark  water  rolled  on  through 
savannas  to  the  great  bay — a  sea  in  itself.  She 
could  distinguish  nothing;  all  was  black  in  that 
blackest  of  nights.  She  dared  not  go  forth,  for  she 
felt  that  the  storm  must  soon  burst.  She  sat,  her 
head  drooped  dejectedly,  her  hands  lying  idly  in 
her  lap.  Uncle  Adan  joined  her,  the  lantern  in  his 
hand  showing  her  dimly  his  short,  dark  form.  The 
manager  looked  sourly  at  his  niece,  and  cast  an 

292 


SAN  ISIDRO 

angry  glance  in  the  direction  of  the  two  at  the  cor 
ner  of  the  casa.  He  had  suddenly  awakened  to  the 
fact  that  Agueda's  kingdom  was  slipping  from  her 
grasp,  and  if  from  hers,  then  from  his  also.  Should 
this  northern  Sefiorita  come  to  be  mistress  here  at 
San  Isidro,  what  hold  had  he,  or  even  Agueda  her 
self,  over  its  master?  He  spoke  almost  roughly  to 
Agueda. 

"Go  you  and  join  them,"  he  said.  "Go  where 
by  right  you  belong." 

Agueda  did  not  look  at  him.  She  shook  her 
head,  and  drooped  it  on  her  breast.  A  sudden 
flash  of  lightning  made  the  place  as  bright  as  day. 
Uncle  Adan  caught  a  glimpse  of  that  at  the  further 
corner  which  made  him  rage  inwardly. 

"Did  you  see  that?"-  he  whispered. 

"No,"  said  Agueda.     "I  see  nothing." 

"I  have  no  patience  with  you,"  said  Uncle 
Adan.  He  could  have  shaken  her,  he  was  so  angry. 
"Had  you  remained  with  them,  as  is  your  right, 
some  things  would  not  have  happened." 

He  left  her  and  went  hurriedly  toward  the 
stables.  Presently  he  returned.  Agueda  was 
aware  of  his  presence  only  when  he  touched  her. 

"The  storm  will  be  here  before  long, "  he  said. 
"Can  you  get  him  away  without  her?  Anything 
to  be  rid  of  those  northern  interlopers." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 
293 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Call  him  away,  draw  him  off.  Tell  him  to 
come  to  the  rancho — that  I  wish  to  see  him  about 
preparations  as  to  their  safety.  Get  him  away  on  any 
pretext.  Leave  the  others  here  with  no  one  to — ' ' 

"It  is  not  necessarily  a  flood, "  said  the  girl,  with 
a  strange,  new,  wicked  hope  springing  up  within 
her  heart. 

"It  will  be  a  flood,"  said  Uncle  Adan.  "It  is 
breaking  even  now  at  Point  Galizza. " 

For  answer  Agueda  arose. 

"Good  girl!     You  are  going,  then,  to  tell  him — " 

"Yes,  to  tell  him — " 

"Call  him  away!  .1  will  saddle  the  horses.  I 
will  have  the  grey  at  the  back  steps  in  five  minutes. 
Tell  him  that  Don  Silencio  has  need  of  him." 

"If  the  Don  Silencio's  own  letter  would  not — " 

"The  grey  can  carry  double.  You  can  ride  with 
him.  I  will  go  ahead.  The  flood  is  coming.  It 
is  near.  I  know  the  signs." 

Agueda  drew  away  from  the  hand  which  Uncle 
Adan  laid  upon  her  wrist. 

"Let  me  go,  uncle,"  she  said. 

Uncle  Adan  released  her. 

"The  flood  will  last  but  a  day  or  two,"  he  whis 
pered  in  her  ear,  "but  it  will  be  a  deep  one.  All 
the  signs  point  to  that.  We  have  never  had  such 
a  one ;  but  after — Agueda,  after — there  will  be  no 
one  to  interfere  with  you — with  me,  if — " 

294 


SAN   ISIDRO 

Agueda  allowed  him  to  push  her  on  toward  the 
end  of  the  veranda,  where  the  two  were  still  sing 
ing  in  a  desultory  way. 

"I  shall  warn  them,"  she  said. 

"Him!"  said  Uncle  Adan,  in  a  tone  of  dictation. 

"I  shall  warn  them,"  again  said  Agueda,  as  if 
she  had  not  spoken  before. 

"Fool!"  shouted  Uncle  Adan,  as  he  dashed 
down  the  veranda  steps  and  ran  toward  the  stables. 
"And  the  forest  answered  'fool!'  ' 

Agueda  heard  hurrying  footsteps  from  the  inner 
side  of  the  veranda.  Men  were  running  toward 
the  stables.  She  drew  near  to  Beltran.  The  faint 
light  of  the  lantern  in  the  comidor  told  her  where 
the  two  forms  still  sat,  though  it  showed  her  little 
else.  She  laid  her  hand  upon  his  shoulder,  but  she 
laid  it  also  upon  a  smaller,  softer  one  than  her  own. 
The  hand  was  suddenly  withdrawn,  as  Felisa  gave 
an  apprehensive  little  scream. 

"What  do  you  want?"  asked  Beltran  impatiently, 
who  felt  the  warring  of  two  souls  through  those 
antagonistic  fingers. 

"You  must  come  at  once,"  said  Agueda,  with 
decision.  "The  storm  will  soon  burst." 

"Nonsense!  We  have  had  many  sultry  nights 
like  this.  Where  do  you  get  your  information?" 

"My  uncle  Adan  says  that  the  storm  will  soon 
burst.  He  has  gone  to  saddle  the  horses." 

295 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Felisa  gave  a  cry  of  fear. 

Beltran  turned  with  rage  upon  Agueda.  A  flash 
of  lightning  showed  her  the  anger  blazing  in  his 
eyes.  It  also  disclosed  to  her  gaze  Felisa  cowering 
close  to  him. 

"How  dare  you  come  here  frightening  the  child? 
Your  uncle  has  his  reasons,  doubtless,  for  what  he 
says.  As  for  me,  I  am  perfectly  convinced  that 
there  will  be  no  storm — that  is,  no  flood." 

"I  beg  of  you,  come!"  urged  Agueda. 

"Oh,  cousin!  What  will  become  of  us?  Why 
does  that  girl  fear  the  storm  so?" 

"There  will  be  no  storm,  vida  mia,  and  if  there 
is,  has  not  the  casa  stood  these  many  years? 
Agueda  knows  that  as  well  as  I." 

Agueda  withdrew  a  little,  she  stood  irresolute. 
She  heard  the  sound  of  horses'  feet,  she  heard 
Uncle  Adan  calling  to  her.  She  heard  Don  Noe" 
calling  to  Eduardo  Juan  to  bring  a  light,  and  not 
be  so  damned  long  about  it.  Old  Juana  called, 
"'Gueda,  'Gueda,  honey!  come!  Deyse  deat'  in 
de  air!  'Gueda!" 

There  was  a  sudden  rush  of  hoofs  across  the 
potrero,  and  then  the  despairing  wail  from  Palan- 
drez,  "Dey  has  stampeded!"  She  heard  without 
hearing.  She  remembered  afterward,  during  that 
last  night  that  she  was  to  inhabit  the  casa,  that  all 


296 


SAN  ISIDRO 

these  sounds  had  passed  across  almost  unheeding 
ears.  She  ran  again  to  Don  Beltran. 

"Come!  Come,  Beltran,  dear  Beltran,"  she  said. 
"The  river  is  upon  us!" 

She  wrung  her  hands  helplessly.  It  seemed  to 
her  as  if  Beltran  had  lost  his  power  of  reasoning. 

"How  dare  she  call  you   Beltran?"  said   Felisa. 

There  came  a  crash  which  almost  drowned  the 
sound  of  her  voice,  then  a  scream  from  Felisa, 
intense  and  shrill.  Agueda  heard  Beltran's  voice, 
first  in  anger,  then  soothing  the  terrified  girl  again, 
shouting  for  horses,  and  above  it  all,  she  heard  the 
water  topple  over  the  embankment,  and  the  swash 
of  the  waves  against  the  foundations  of  the  casa. 

She  ran  hurriedly  and  brought  the  lantern  which 
hung  within  the  comidor.  When  Felisa  opened  her 
eyes,  and  looked  around  her  at  the  waste  of  waters, 
she  shrieked  again. 

"How  dare  you  bring  that  light?  Put  it  out!" 
ordered  Beltran. 

"We  must  see  to  get  to  the  roof,"  answered 
Agueda,  with  determination. 

"The  roof!  The  water  is  not  deep.  See,  Felisa, 
it  is  only  a  foot  deep.  The  grey  can  carry  you  and 
me  with  safety." 

"Does  not  the  Senor  know  that  the  horses  have 
stampeded?"  said  Agueda.  "Our  only  hope  of 
safety  now  lies  upon  the  roof.  We  must  get  to 

297 


SAN  ISIDRO 

the  roof.  See  how  the  water  is  already  getting 
deeper." 

And  now,  Agueda,  her  listlessness  gone,  ran  into 
the  casa  and  seized  upon  what  she  knew  was  neces 
sary  for  a  night  in  the  open  air.  Beltran  followed 
her  into  the  hall.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  her 
shoulder,  and  shook  her  angrily.  His  judgment 
seemed  to  have  deserted  him. 

"Why  did  you  not  warn  us?"  he  said.  "Was  it 
a  part  of  your  plan  to — to — ' ' 

"My  plan!"  said  Agueda.  "Have  I  not  begged 
you?  I  could  have  gone — Uncle  Adan  told  me — ' 

Beltran  seized  the  lantern  and  ran  out  and  along 
the  veranda  to  where  Felisa  stood  clinging  to  the 
pilotijo.  She  was  crying  wildly. 

As  Beltran  approached,  the  light  of  his  lantern 
revealed  to  Felisa  more  fully  the  horror  of  her  sur 
roundings.  A  fierce  wind  had  arisen  in  a  moment, 
and  was  beating  and  threshing  the  trees,  flail-like, 
downward  upon  the  encroaching  river.  Felisa 
turned  upon  Beltran  in  fury.  She  pointed  with 
tragic  earnestness  to  the  waters  which  now  sur 
rounded  the  casa,  and  which  had  assumed  the  pro 
portions  of  a  lake.  A  thin  stream  was  reaching, 
reaching  over  from  the  edge  of  the  veranda;  its 
searching  point  wetted  her  shoe. 

"You  should  have  told  me  that  such  things  hap 
pen  in  this  barbarous  place!  You  pretend  to  love 

298 


SAN  ISIDRO 

me,  and  to  keep  me  with  you,  you  keep  me  ignorant 
of  my  danger,  and  now  I  must  die.  I  must  be 
drowned  far  away  from  my  home  in  a  savage  land, 
all  because  you  pretend  that  you  love  me!  Oh, 
God!  I  am  so  young  to  die!  So  young  to  die!" 

Beltran  enfolded  the  girl  in  his  arms. 

"You  shall  not  die.  There  is  no  danger  of  dying. 
We  will  go  up  on  the  roof.  See!  here  are  the 
steps.  You  will  behold  a  wonderful  sight  to-night. 
You  will  laugh  at  your  fears  to-morrow." 

Beltran  urged  her  toward  the  ladder  as  he  spoke. 

"Agueda  and  I  have  spent  more  than  one  night 
up  there,  have  we  not,  Agueda?  She  will  tell  you 
that  there  is  nothing  to  fear.  Agueda,  tell  my 
cousin  that  there  is  nothing  to  fear." 

"I  did  not  know  what  there  was  to  fear,"  said 
Agueda  in  a  low  voice. 

Felisa  was  crying  bitterly,  as  Beltran  aided  her 
up  the  lower  steps  of  the  ladder.  Agueda  followed 
Beltran  and  Felisa.  She  carried  some  heavy 
wraps,  and  struggled  up  the  steep  incline  unaided. 
Arrived  upon  the  roof,  she  found  the  cousins  stand 
ing  together,  Beltran' s  arm  cast  protectingly  round 
the  trembling  girl,  her  eyes  hid  against  his  breast. 

"My  cousin  is  nervous,"  said  he,  in  a  half  apolo 
getic  tone ;  for  though  his  intimacy  with  Felisa  had 
passed  the  highest  water-mark,  where  cousinship 
ends  and  love  begins,  he  had  not  obtruded  his 

299 


SAN  ISIDRO 

actions  or  words  upon  Agueda's  notice.  But  now 
as  he  felt  the  shaking  of  Felisa's  young  form  against 
his  own,  suddenly  he  seemed  to  throw  off  all  reserve. 

"Vida  mia!"  he  said.  "Vida  mia!  look  up, 
speak  to  me.  Do  look.  See  that  faint  light  in 
the  east !  The  moon  will  soon  rise.  It  is  a  beau 
tiful  sight.  The  water  will  go  down  in  a  few  hours. 
You  will  laugh  at  your  fears  to-morrow,  child. 
These  floods  do  not  last  long,  do  they,  Agueda? 
When  was  the  last  one?  Do  you  remember, 
Agueda?" 

"Yes,  I  remember,"  answered  Agueda. 

"Come,  then,  and  tell  her.  You  can  comfort 
her  if  you  tell  her  how  little  there  is  to  fear." 

"I  do  not  think  that  I  shall  comfort  her,"  said 
Agueda.  She  glanced  at  the  refuge  behind  the 
chimney,  and  then  back  at  Beltran.  "It  was  one 
long  year  ago,"  she  said. 

He  turned  away.  "Come,  Felisa, "  he  said. 
"There  is  shelter  from  this  wind  behind  the  old 
chiminea." 

He  guided  her  along  the  slight  slope  of  the  roof. 
The  wind  was  rising  higher  with  every  moment. 
It  howled  down  from  the  hills;  it  bent  and  slashed 
at  the  treetops;  it  caught  Felisa's  filmy  gauzes  and 
whirled  them  upward  and  about  her  head. 

Beltran  half  turned  to  Agueda. 

"Give  me  the  cloak,"  he  said.  He  took  it  from 
300 


SAN   ISIDRO 

her  and  enveloped  Felisa  in  it,  then  led  her  to  the 
safe  shelter  of  the  broad  old  chimney.  Behind  it 
was  a  figure  upon  his  knees.  It  was  Don  Noe\  He 
was  praying  with  the  fervour  of  the  death-bed 
repenter. 

Felisa,  with  a  return  of  her  flippant  manner, 
laughed  shrilly. 

"The  truly  pious  are  also  unselfish,  papa.  Give 
us  a  little  shelter  from  this  searching  wind." 

"Oh,  do  not!  Do  not!  If  I  move,  I  shall  fall! 
You  will  push  me  off!"  and  Don  Noe  continued 
petitioning  Heaven  in  his  own  behalf. 

Agueda  was  left  standing  in  the  centre  of  the 
roof.  Palandrez  and  Eduardo  Juan,  who  had  fol 
lowed  the  Sefiores  to  this  their  only  refuge,  were 
lying  flat  upon  their  faces.  They  held  a  lantern 
between  them — a  doubtful  blessing,  in  that  it  illu 
mined  with  faint  ray  the  gloom  and  horror  below, 
but  it  told  so  little  that  the  possibility  seemed  more 
dreadful  than  the  reality  was  at  the  moment. 

"Lay  down,  Seno'it'  'Gueda, "  called  Eduardo 
Juan.  "Lay  yo'  body  down." 

A  sudden  gust  of  wind  forced  Agueda  to  run. 
She  guided  herself  to  the  chimney,  and  was  held 
against  it.  Her  garments  fluttered  round  its  cor 
ners,  striking  Beltran  in  the  face  with  sharp  slaps 
and  cracks.  She  could  not  intrude  upon  that  shel 
ter.  Her  place  was  now  upon  the  hither  side.  She 

301 


SAN  ISIDRO 

threw  herself  flat  upon  her  face,  as  Palandrez  had 
suggested,  her  head  above  the  ridge  pole,  her  feet 
extended  down  the  slight  incline,  and  clutched  at  a 
staple  in  the  roof,  placed  securely  there  for  just 
such  a  night  as  this. 

There  were  no  stars;  there  was  no  moon.  Yet 
it  must  rise  soon. 

Suddenly  the  lantern  was  overturned  and  its  light 
extinguished,  making  more  ominous  the  sound  of 
water  rising,  rising,  rising!  It  lapped  and  played 
about  the  pilotijos.  It  must  be  half-way  up  the 
veranda  posts  by  now.  It  eddied  round  the  corners 
of  the  casa.  It  forced  its  way  through  the  weak 
places.  One  could  hear  it  tearing  and  ripping  at 
unstable  portions  of  the  house,  as  it  flowed  through 
the  interior.  Grinding  noises  were  heard,  as  great 
roots  and  trunks  of  trees  were  borne  and  swayed 
by  the  flood  against  the  walls.  They  piled  them 
selves  up  at  the  southern  end,  remaining  thus  for  a 
short,  unsteady  moment,  and  then,  overpowered 
by  the  rush  and  force  of  water,  they  parted  com 
pany,  some  to  hasten  along  on  one  side  of  the  casa, 
and  some  on  the  other. 


302 


XXI 

Suddenly  Agueda  was  conscious  of  something 
creeping  against  her  foot.  It  was  cold!  Good 
God!  It  was  wet!  The  sole  of  her  shoe  was 
soaked;  the  river  had  reached  even  there.  She 
heard  the  licking  of  those  hungry  lips  which 
were  ready  to  drink  in  the  helpless  souls  stranded 
at  their  mercy.  This  was  indeed  a  sudden  rising! 
Then  there  was  no  hope.  She  wondered  how 
long  it  would  be  before  Beltran  would  learn  the 
fact,  and  what  he  would  do  when  the  truth  came 
to  him.  She  drew  herself  up  by  the  iron  staple 
and  curled  her  body  half  way  round  the  chimney. 
Her  ear  touched  the  ruffles  of  Felisa's  gown. 
She  heard  a  tender  voice  speaking  much  as  it  had 
to  her  a  year  ago. 

"Come  closer,"  it  said.  "Do  not  fear.  I  am 
here." 

"Beltran!"  she  called.     "Beltran!" 

"Who  calls  me?"  came  his  voice  from  out  the 
blackness.  "You,  Agueda?" 

"Yes,  it  is  I,  Agueda.  The  river  is  rising  very 
high.  It  has  come  up  quickly.  I  felt  it  against 

303 


SAN  ISIDRO 

my  foot.  Can  you  not  try  to  catch  some  tree  or 
branch?" 

"Oh,  God!  Oh,  God!  Save  me!"  It  wasFelisa's 
voice.  "Why  did  I  ever  come  to  this  accursed 
island?  Why,  oh,  why?  How  dared  you  tell  me 
that  I  was  safe!  Safe  with  you?  Oh,  my  God! 
Safe  with  you!  Are  you  greater  than  God?  If  He 
cannot  save  me,  can  you?" 

As  Felisa  shrieked  these  words,  which  were 
almost  drowned  by  the  sound  of  the  swiftly 
rushing  waters,  she  raised  her  small  fist  and 
struck  at  Beltran.  The  jewels  on  her  fingers  cut 
his  lip. 

His  musical  voice,  patient  and  still  tender,  an 
swered  as  if  to  a  naughty  child. 

"Careful!  you  will  throw  yourself  off!  Agueda, 
why  must  you  come  here  frightening  my  cousin? 
When  the  moon  rises  she  will  see  the  falseness  of 
your  story." 

As  if  to  convict  him  out  of  his  own  mouth,  the 
moon  suddenly  shone  through  a  rift  in  the  black 
clouds  which  edged  the  horizon.  It  discovered  to 
Agueda  Felisa  clasped  to  a  resting-place  that  was 
her  own  by  right.  It  showed  her  Beltran  holding 
the  little  form  in  his  arms,  as  once  he  had  held  her 
own.  It  showed  her  Beltran  covering  the  blonde 
head  with  passionate  kisses,  as  once  he  had  covered 
her  darker  one. 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Agueda  clutched  the  chimney  for  support.  Death 
was  no  worse  than  this. 

Felisa  opened  her  trembling  lids  and  gazed 
abroad  on  the  expanse  of  waters.  Wail  after  wail 
issued  from  her  white  lips  and  mingled  with  the 
wind  that  blew  wantonly  the  tendrils  of  her  hair. 
She  struck  Beltran  in  the  face  again,  she  pushed 
him  from  her  with  the  fury  of  a  maniac. 

Great  trees  and  branches  were  pounding  against 
the  roof.  The  peons  had  climbed  to  the  highest 
point,  and  now,  as  a  trunk  came  tearing  down 
toward  them,  with  a  pitying  glance  at  those  they 
left  behind,  and  a  chuckle  at  their  own  presence  of 
mind,  they  caught  at  it,  and  were  whirled  away  to 
death  or  to  succour. 

Don  Noe",  ever  on  the  watch,  with  face  thin  and 
fierce,  with  nostrils  extended  and  eyes  wild  and 
staring,  peered  round  the  chimney  where  he  hung 
in  prayerful  terror.  His  resolution  was  made  in 
one  of  those  sudden  moments  of  decision  that 
come  to  the  weakest.  Watching  his  chance,  he 
sprang  and  clutched  at  the  giant  as  it  came  bobbing 
and  wobbling  by,  and  in  company  with  Palandrez 
and  Eduardo  Juan,  he  floated  away  from  his  late 
companions. 

Agueda,  left  alone  upon  her  side  of  the  roof, 
crouched,  looking  ever  toward  the  south,  searching 
for  a  cask,  a  boat,  a  tree,  a  plank,  a  piece  of  house- 

3°S 


SAN  ISIDRO 

hold  furniture,  anything  by  which  she  might  hold 
and  save  her  life  and  Beltran's.  Not  Felisa's;  that 
she  could  not  do,  even  though  Beltran  loved  her. 

Until  now  Agueda  had  thought  that  she  longed 
for  death;  but  the  instinct  of  self-preservation  is 
strong,  and  she  could  hardly  comprehend  her  newly 
awakened  desire  to  seize  upon  some  sort  of  floating 
thing  which  might  mean  safety  for  herself.  She 
stood  gazing  over  the  broad  expanse  of  water.  It 
had  become  a  sea.  The  face  of  nature  was  changed. 
The  position  of  the  river  bank  was  discernible  only 
from  the  waving  line  of  branches  which  testified 
where  their  trunks  stood.  There  were  one  or  two 
oases  whose  tops  showed  still  above  the  surface  of 
the  stretching,  reaching  flood.  Agueda  thought 
that  she  could  discern  some  one  in  a  treetop  near 
the  hill  rancho.  She  wondered  if  it  could  be  Uncle 
Adan.  She  thought  that  she  heard  a  shout.  She 
tried  to  answer,  but  the  weak  sound  of  her  voice 
was  forced  back  into  her  throat.  It  would  not 
carry  against  the  force  of  the  wind.  No  other  land 
nearer  than  the  heights  of  Palmacristi  was  to  be 
seen.  The  horses  and  cattle  must  have  perished. 
It  had  indeed  become,  as  Uncle  Adan  had  warned 
her,  a  greater  flood  than  the  country  had  ever 
known.  To  add  to  the  unspeakable  gloom  of  the 
scene,  the  clouds  parted  wider  and  allowed  the 
moon  to  sparkle  more  fully  upon  the  boiling  water 

306 


SAN  ISIDRO 

below  and  the  trees  and  branches  as  they  rolled  and 
hastened  onward. 

As  Agueda  stood  and  gazed  up  the  stream,  sud 
denly,  from  out  the  perspective  of  the  moon-flecked 
tide,  a  little  craft  came  sailing  down — a  tiny  thing 
that  seemed  to  have  been  set  upon  the  waste  of 
waters  by  some  pitying  hand.  She  watched  it 
with  eager  eyes,  as  it  floated  onward.  Her  body 
swayed  unconsciously  with  each  change  in  its  course 
or  pointing  of  its  bow  to  right,  to  left,  as  if  she  feared 
that  it  would  escape  her  anxious  hand.  Fate 
drifted  it  exactly  across  the  thatch  at  the  south  end 
of  the  roof.  On  it  came,  and  was  driven  to  her 
very  feet.  Here  was  succour!  Here  was  help!  She 
could  save  herself,  unwatched,  unknown,  of  those 
others  behind  the  shelter  there,  and  float  away  to 
the  chance  of  rescue.  Agueda  stepped  ankle-deep 
in  the  water,  and  stooping,  held  in  frenzied  clutch 
this  gift  of  the  gods. 

"The  little  duck  boat  of  Felipe,"  she  exclaimed, 
as  she  drew  it  toward  her.  "The  little  duck  boat 
of  Felipe!" 

Beltran  had  arisen  as  he  heard  the  boat  grate 
against  the  roof.  He  stepped  cautiously  out  from 
behind  the  chimney,  Felisa  leaning  upon  him. 
Agueda  raised  her  eyes  to  them.  She  shook  as  if 
with  a  chill.  She  was  drawing  the  boat  nearer,  and 
battling  with  the  flood  to  keep  her  treasure  in  hand, 

3°7 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"Agueda,"  called  Beltran.  "Take  her  with  you. 
Her  weight  is  slight." 

Felisa  raised  her  head  from  his  shoulder,  and  cast 
a  terrified  look  about  her.  Beltran  looked  at 
Agueda,  and  then  down  at  Felisa. 

"She  will  save  you,"  he  said. 

"I  will  not  go  without  you,  Beltran,"  sobbed 
Felisa.  "I  dare  not  go  without  you.  Oh!  come 
with  me !  That  girl  of  yours,  that  Agueda,  I  dare 
not  go  with  her!  She  hates  me!  She  will  kill 
me!" 

When  Beltran  had  said,  "She  will  save  you," 
Agueda  had  begun  to  draw  the  skiff  nearer  to  him. 
She  moved  with  great  care,  that  the  flood  might 
not  wrench  from  her  this  treasure  trove. 

"It  is  true  that  I  hate  you,"  said  Agueda,  in  a 
hard,  cold  voice,  as  she  brought  the  boat  to  Felisa's 
feet,  "but  I  will  not  kill  you."  She  pushed  the 
tiny  craft  nearer  to  Felisa.  "Take  your  place," 
said  she.  "I  will  hold  it  steady." 

"I  will  not  go  without  you,"  again  shrieked 
Felisa,  turning  to  Beltran.  "I  dare  not  go  with 
out  you.  Oh,  Agueda!  dear  Agueda!  You  do 
not  care  to  live.  What  have  you  to  live  for? 
While  I—" 

"True,"  said  Agueda.  "Will  the  Senorita  take 
her  place?" 

Felisa  still  held  to  Beltran 's  hand. 
308 


SAN  ISIDRO 

"I  will  not  go  alone,"  she  said.  "Come  with 
me,  dear  love!  Come  with  me;  I  cannot  live  with 
out  you." 

"There  is  not  room  for  all,"  said  Beltran,  glan 
cing,  as  he  spoke,  at  Agueda.  "At  least,  Felisa,  we 
can  die  together." 

Ever  changeable,  and  suddenly  angered  at  this, 
Felisa  again  struck  at  Beltran,  and  tried  with  her 
small  strength  to  thrust  him  aside,  so  that  his  foot 
ing  was  imperilled.  Agueda  turned  pale  as  she 
saw  his  danger.  Beltran  laughed  nervously,  and 
seized  with  firmer  grasp  the  staple  buried  in  the 
mortar. 

"And  do  you  think  that  will  compensate  me?" 
screamed  Felisa.  "Do  you  think  that  I  shall  wel 
come  death  because  I  may  die  in  your  company? 
I  tell  you,  I  will  not  die.  I  love  all  the  pleasant 
things  of  life — I  love  myself,  my  pretty  self.  I  am 
meant  for  life  and  love  and  warmth,  not  cold  and 
death.  There  is  not  a  human  being  who  could 
reconcile  me  to  death.  Oh,  my  God!  and  such  a 
death!" 

Felisa  screamed  hysterically.  She  sobbed  and 
choked,  and  amid  her  shrieks  were  heard  the  dis 
jointed  words,  "I — will — not — die!" 

In  her  frenzy  the  fastening  at  her  throat  gave 
way,  and  Agueda  caught  sight  of  the.  diamond 
pendant  at  her  neck.  Agueda,  with  her  eyes  on 

309 


SAN  ISIDRO 

Beltran,  nodded  her  head  toward  the  boat,  as  if  to 
say,  "Do  as  she  asks."  When  she  spoke,  she 
said: 

"I  will  hold  it  steady,  as  steady  as  I  can." 

Felisa  cast  another  horrified  look  around  her  upon 
the  moonlit,  shoreless  sea. 

"Oh,  God!"  she  sobbed,  as  holding  frantically  to 
Beltran' s  hand,  she  stepped  into  the  boat.  She 
drew  him  toward  her,  so  that  he  could  with  diffi 
culty  resist  the  impelling  of  her  hand.  Beltran 
tried  to  release  his  fingers  from  the  grasp  of  Felisa. 
He  turned  to  Agueda,  and  motioned  toward  the 
one  hope  of  succour. 

She  shook  her  head. 

"I  cannot  hold  it  long,"  she  said. 

"Beltran!  Beltran!"  sobbed  Felisa. 

The  boat  pulled  and  jerked  like  a  race  horse. 
Even  Felisa's  slight  weight  made  a  marked  differ 
ence  in  its  buoyancy. 

Agueda's  position  was  made  the  more  unstable 
by  her  skirt,  which  fluttered  in  the  wind. 

"I  can  hold  it  but  a  second  more,"  she  said. 
She  was  still  stooping,  holding  the  boat  in  as  firm 
a  grasp  as  her  footing  would  allow. 

Beltran  stood  irresolute,  wavering. 

"I  cannot  leave  you  here,  Agueda,  to  die  per 
haps — for — her — for  me." 

"I  died  long  weeks  ago,"  she  muttered,  more  to 
310 


SAN  ISIDRO 

herself  than  to  him,  and  motioned  again  with  her 
head  toward  the  boat. 

The  water  was  rushing  past  them.  It  was  ankle- 
deep  now.  Agueda  steadied  herself  more  firmly 
against  the  chimney. 

Felisa,  shivering  with  fright,  stretched  out  her 
arms  appealingly  to  Beltran,  her  cheeks  streaming 
with  tears.  Beltran  glanced  at  Agueda,  with  a  look 
that  was  half  beseeching,  half  apologetic,  as  if  to 
forestall  the  contempt  which  he  knew  that  she  must 
feel  for  him,  and — stepped  into  the  boat.  His 
weight  tore  it  from  Agueda's  grasp.  It  began  to 
float  away,  but  before  it  had  passed  a  span  from 
where  Agueda  stood  alone,  he  turned  and  shouted, 
"Come!  Agueda,  come!  Throw  yourself  in,  I  can 
save  you!" 

Ah!  that  was  all  that  she  cared  to  hear.  It 
was  the  old  voice.  It  sank  into  her  heart  and  gave 
her  peace.  For  in  that  flash  of  sudden  and  over 
whelming  remorse  which  is  stronger  than  death, 
Beltran  had  seen  that  which  he  had  not  noticed 
before,  the  sad  change  in  her  girlish  figure.  Felisa 
clung  to  him,  threatening  to  upset  the  skiff.  He 
thrust  her  from  him.  "Come!"  again  he  shouted, 
"Come!"  He  stretched  out  his  arms  to  Agueda, 
but  as  the  words  left  his  lips  he  was  whirled  from 
her  presence. 

In  that  supreme  moment  Beltran  caught  the 
311 


SAN  ISIDRO 

motion  of  her  lips.  "My  love!"  they  seemed  to 
say,  and  still  holding  to  the  staple  with  one  hand, 
she  raised  the  other  toward  him,  in  good-by 
perhaps — perhaps  in  blessing. 

Agueda  kept  her  gaze  fixed  upon  the  little  speck, 
shrinking  involuntarily  when  she  saw  some  great 
trunk  endanger  its  buoyancy. 

The  boat  was  drifting  swiftly  along  in  the  waters 
now,  and  in  that  mad  rush  to  the  sea  Beltran 
strained  his  eyes  ever  backward  to  catch  the  faint 
motion  of  that  fluttering  garment  in  its  wave  of 
farewell. 


PRINTED  BY  R.  R.  DONNELLEY 
AND  SONS  COMPANY  AT  THE 
LAKESIDE  PRESS,  CHICAGO,  ILL. 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

AA    001  260134   o 


mm 


SAN   ISIDRO 


M  i  •  s .  S  c  h  u  vler  Crown  i  nsh  ield 


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